An Aversion to Change
by Mel88
Summary: Sent back to Hogwarts with the suspicious title of Head Boy, Draco is forced to share a dormitory with none other than Hermione Granger. With a war looming on the horizon and another danger even closer to home, their final year is anything but ordinary.
1. Ch 1: Desertion

Desertion

Draco was thrown unceremoniously onto the rough stone floor at the Dark Lord's feet. The rock cut slightly into his face, but little scrapes were the least of his worries. Draco had failed to kill Dumbledore. Instead, Snape had to do the deed. Because of Draco's weakness, he had botched his first mission. He was in trouble, and he knew it. And if one was in trouble with Voldemort, one had a singular option: to beg.

"Please, my Lord. Forgive me. I was weak. I was taken in by the old codger's empty promises. I have failed you." Draco hung his head lower, if such a feat were even possible. His voice was filled with sincere shame and regret.

"Silence!" came Voldemort's authoritative voice from his elevated seat on the red wing-backed chair. "I do not wish to hear your miserable excuses, boy. I wish only to be obeyed, which you have not done. And for that, you deserve only one thing."

Draco steeled himself for death's swift approach. It would not be the first time he awaited the bright green light of the Killing Curse. But instead of death's icy grip, he was dealt an astonishing amount of pain.

"_Crucio!_"

Draco writhed on the floor, curling up into a ball and hugging his legs to his chest. Such pain was not unfamiliar to him; he had, after all, lived with his father for 17 years. But as familiar as the pain was, he had not grown accustomed to it. For who could ever adapt to the feeling of his eyes being seared with a white hot poker? Or a wedge being driven under his nails? Or his organs being torn to bits by savages inside his own skin?

His father, Lucius Malfoy, was now looking on as his son was being tortured. His cold eyes held no pity within them. Instead, they were filled with stark disappointment and utmost disgust. His lip curled as he heard Draco pitifully cry out in pain.

The pain stopped almost as suddenly as it had begun, leaving Draco sweaty and panting on the cold floor. Voldemort removed his gaze from the worthless boy at his feet and barked an order to Lucius.

"Remove this boy from my sight! Take him back to Malfoy Manor and teach him a lesson of your own. I expect you back here within the hour to receive further instructions. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Lord," he replied obediently.

Lucius walked over to a motionless Draco and roughly grasped his upper arm. Hauling the young man to his feet, they both Apparated with a small pop and arrived mere seconds later at Malfoy Manor.

Lucius threw Draco down immediately upon their arrival; it was as if he was loathe to touch his son for a moment longer than was necessary. He then started in on his own brand of punishment: a mixture of physical and emotional torture that he had perfected over years of fatherhood.

For nearly an hour, Lucius slung insults at Draco, demeaning him in every possible way. Every so often, he would throw in a well-aimed hex or a kick to the stomach or a whack across Draco's face with his pointed cane. The result was a broken and bleeding boy, lying motionless but still conscious on the white marble floor of the manor's foyer. Blood oozed out of Draco's body steadily, pooling and congealing on the floor, providing a horrifyingly beautiful contrast of crimson upon ivory.

With a final insult and kick to Draco's ribs, Lucius glared at his son with tremendous revulsion and stalked away.

Draco's mind registered the sound of his father's heels and cane upon the hard stone floors and heard the pop of his Disapparation. It was only then that Draco allowed himself to move. With pitiable slowness, he moved to a wall, creating a wide streak of smeared blood across the floor. He pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing with pain and breathing slowly. He could feel one or two of his ribs being pushed into his lungs, impeding his breath. Every slow inhale brought a burst of pain, every burst of pain brought another gasp, and every gasp brought more pain. It was an unendurable cycle.

The pain kept Draco from falling into the coveted state of unconsciousness. He kept the tenuous grasp on his sanity intact by reassuring himself that a release from the pain, be it the blessed unconsciousness or death, would come soon. Unconsciousness was the savior for Draco this time, as it had been all the times before. His head slumped against the wall as he fainted from blood loss.

XOX

How much later it was when he woke, Draco was unsure. All he knew was that his wounds had been seen to and his chest had been wrapped. Instead of lying on the marble floor in a pool of his own blood, he was now on the black leather couch in his father's sitting room.

'Mother found me,' he thought with certainty. Had it been his father, Draco would still be bleeding on the floor.

He opened his eyes, feeling too weak to move much more than that. The deep and icy voice of his father came floating to Draco's ears from behind the couch.

"Luckily for you, the Dark Lord said that all was not lost. He has come up with a way for you to redeem yourself. You do not deserve such a chance, but the Dark Lord is merciful."

'_Merciful_.' Draco inwardly scoffed at this remark, but made no outward gesture of his emotion. To do so would have practically requested another beating, or possibly even death.

Lucius moved to the front of the couch to better regard his son. He sneered at the bandages, as if they too were a sign of weakness.

"But know this: if you fail this mission, he will do worse than kill you. Do you understand me, boy?"

Draco feebly nodded his understanding and tried to stay awake and alert enough to hear the Dark Lord's new orders. When he finished explaining, Lucius rose to leave. "You understand what you need to do, Draco. Do not disappoint me."

The last was said with an unspoken threat. With that, Lucius left.

XOX

A week passed. Draco was no where near fully healed, but he had regained enough of his strength and his mind to realize what he had to do.

'I have to get out of here,' he thought desperately. He mounted the long staircase to his room, pausing often to catch his breath. He clutched the banister with shaky white fingers, breathing deeply and simultaneously groaning in pain because of his cracked ribs. He finally reached his room and leaned against the door in exhaustion. More than anything, he wanted to rest. 'But I can't. Not right now. I have to get out of here first.'

As quickly as he could, Draco ripped open his drawers and started haphazardly piling his clothes into a trunk. Pants, shirts, boxers, socks, everything. He would leave nothing in his bureau or his bathroom.

He tried not to think of his mother, the poor woman who had actually cared for her son's well-being. It was she who endured most of his father's wrath when Draco was a child. But now that he was legally an adult, Lucius was able to beat Draco as much as he wanted without fear of retribution from the Wizengamot. He owned half of them anyways, so complaining would do little to no good. Draco hoped that his father would not kill his mother while he was away, but there was no possible way to predict the sadistic man's actions.

Getting downstairs was a bit more difficult than going up. The weakened boy tried to silently lug his heavy trunk down the stairs. His attempt was not met with much success. Halfway down, his shaky fingers, now coated in a thin sheen of sweat, lost their grip on the awkward trunk. It banged down the stairs and loudly echoed in the empty foyer. He knew that it was only a matter of time until his mother would come running to stop him. Ignoring the blackness now threatening his vision and his wounds, newly opened from his physical exertion up and down the stairs, Draco focused his eyes on the door.

With heavy and slow footsteps, Draco continued. The distance, which could have been no more than ten feet, seemed to be ten miles. It was an interminable walk.

'This must be what the steps of a dead man feel like,' he thought.

He finally reached the threshold and took a deep breath. With a determined air, he stepped over it, officially outside the boundary that had trapped him for so long. Once he was halfway down the walk, he turned around to regard his house one last time. The dark and brooding structure held no love for him, and he felt none in return. He hated each gloomy stone, each grotesque gargoyle, each threatening spire, each looming chimney. With a triumphant smile, he Apparated to the address that Dumbledore mentally sent to him just seconds before his death.

The last thing Draco saw as he disappeared was a flash of his mother. She was bracing herself against the doorway of Malfoy Manor with a look of defeat. She, of course, realized what her son was doing and that she was powerless to stop him. Even from the distance he was at, he could see tears falling steadily down her pale face. She raised one hand to her head, cradling it gently. The other was over her heart, her fingers flexing slightly as if the movement was the only thing keeping the worn organ working. Draco felt a tug at his own heart: leaving his mother, the woman that had cared for him and raised him, was harder than he expected.

He saw her only for a moment, and then he was gone.

In an instant, Draco landed in a run-down neighborhood. He could hear the other people living on the street going about their lives as loudly as they possibly could. Babies were crying, lovers were arguing, and children were laughing. All of these normal noises that Draco never really had a chance to experience hit him like a brick.

He sighed. 'So this is how the other half lives.' Draco did not regret his decision, but he did wish it could be another way.

As he walked towards the address, the house slowly materialized. At first came a small and worn door. The door was then surrounded by tatty-looking walls and windows covered in thick cobwebs of pearly white. He raised his hand to the door knocker, shaped like a snake. Draco grimaced as he took another deep breath and knocked twice on the door to 12 Grimmauld Place, headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix.


	2. Ch 2: Homecoming

Homecoming

Draco stood in front of the black and dirty door, wondering if anyone had heard his knocks. He raised his hand to the knocker and was about to rap again when the door opened. His eyes opened wide as he immediately recognized the witch that answered the door.

'How could anyone not recognize that hair?' he thought.

Indeed, Hermione Granger's hair was quite a mess. Her brown locks were bushier than normal, some parts of it sticking up wildly. Draco wondered what she had just been doing and was about to ask when…

_SLAP!_

Hermione's hand connected with the left side of his face with a velocity that left him staggering. He reeled to the right, then regained his footing and looked at her again, receiving yet another vicious slap to the opposite side of his face. He glared at her, both sides of his face now stinging. Her brown eyes were glowing with a ferocity that Draco did not think was possible for her to have. They were ablaze with hate, sparks dancing wildly inside her brown orbs. She raised her hand to slap him again when it was caught by a pale and freckled hand.

"Hermione, what are you doing? Hermione?" Ron said looking at her. Hermione said nothing. She remained staring forward, breathing loudly through her nose. Ron followed her eyes to Draco's red-faced figure.

'Shit,' he thought.

Upon seeing his worst enemy standing on his doorstep, Ron's blue eyes widened in shock then immediately narrowed. His freckled face turned purple with anger. Ron launched himself at Draco with a roar. Catapulting himself into Draco's stomach, the two boys flew off the porch and onto the dead and prickly lawn. Ron was screaming obscenities and trying to hit Draco, who was doing his best to dodge Ron's blows. But with his barely-healed ribs agitated once more by Ron's dive into his chest, Draco was finding it hard to breathe, let alone move.

Draco heard Hermione scream from the porch. Apparently, those inside of Grimmauld Place heard as well. In seconds, Hermione was joined by five members of the Order. For a moment, all were still and gaping.

Moody was the first one to come to his senses. He yelled in surprise and tramped over to the grappling boys as fast as his prosthetic leg would allow. Kingsley Shacklebolt followed him quickly and grabbed Ron off of Draco. Ron strained against Kingsley's strong hold but was unable to budge the black man's iron grip. He may have been unable to move, but still had perfect use of his vocal chords.

"I'll kill him! I'll kill him! The bloody bastard! Let me go, so I can kill him!"

"Shut your yap, boy, before Kingsley has to keep that closed too," Moody growled. Whether it was his threat or Hermione's appearance at his side that silenced him was debatable. But whatever the reason, Ron shut his mouth and looked at Draco with daggers in his eyes. Draco was sure that he would have another go with Ron before too long.

Once Moody was close enough to see who exactly Ron was attacking, his swiveling blue eye stopped still in its socket, focused entirely on Draco. Draco could almost hear the cogs working in Moody's twisted mind and started to worry just the slightest bit.

'If I get turned into a ferret again…'

Although Draco was sure this thought crossed Moody's mind, the scarred man made no move towards his wand. He was about to release the breath he had been holding when Moody's eye started to spin again.

"Up," Moody demanded. Draco did not expect a hand and neither was he offered one. He issued the order and limped back towards the house, telling the motley group of wizards and witches that had gathered to watch the scene to get back to work.

"Sorry about that, Weasley," Kingsley said in a deep voice. He let Ron go, who twisted away from Kingsley's arms with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Come on, Ron," Hermione said, grabbing his hand. "Let's go back in. I want to warn Harry about who's here."

Ron glared at Draco, who had managed to flip over onto all fours.

"Couldn't we just leave him here? Maybe in a few little pieces?" Ron tightly gripped his wand and set his mouth into a ferocious grin.

Draco could feel Ron's eyes burning a whole through his head, but was too weary even to sneer in retaliation. Instead of showing Ron this weakness, Draco for once kept his head down, knowing that he would have to make up for the display of submission later.

'When I'm feeling better,' Draco thought with a sinister grin to himself. 'I'll get the Weasel back good.'

"No Ron, now come on! We've got to get in to Harry. Leave him to make it on his own. He obviously _thinks_ he's strong enough," Hermione said spitefully.

'I'll have to remember to add the Mudblood to that list,' Draco thought. He watched Hermione walk back into the house with Ron. She was holding onto his upper arm, practically dragging him away from the prospect of a weakened Draco.

He waited until they were completely in the house before attempting to stand. And it was a good thing he did. Draco fell three times before he managed to gain his footing without causing himself excess amounts of agony. Once he discovered he could move without blacking out, Draco made his way to the door at a cripplingly slow pace.

His back screamed as he bent down to pick up his trunk, which had landed amongst the dead weeds of the long-neglected flower beds lining the walk. He hissed as a stray nettle cut into his skin and looked at his bleeding finger quizzically.

'If this is any indication about how things are going to go inside,' thought Draco, sucking the blood coming from the cut, 'I'm screwed.'

XOX

"Hermione, you're not thinking of actually telling Harry, are you?" Ron asked. His blue eyes were full of worry and caution now that his best friend was in the mix.

"Well, I was going to, but now I'm curious," Hermione said, stopping in her tracks to face him. "Why wouldn't I tell him, Ron? Would you rather he found out on his own?" she asked in an obvious tone.

"I'd rather he not find out at all."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "While ideal, you know that's unrealistic. I just think he should hear it from us instead of it just being sprung on him."

"But _how_ are you going to tell him?" Ron said in an exasperated tone, as if that had been his point the entire time.

Hermione furrowed her brow, as was normal for her when she was thinking.

"Ha, didn't think of that, did you?" Ron said with a triumphant smile.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "_No_, Ronald, I haven't. I don't think there will be any easy way to tell Harry about..."

"About what?" came a voice from right behind her.

Hermione yelped and jumped in the air, turning around to face the voice. Her face fell a bit as she saw it was Harry, but she immediately covered up her unease with a smile that was perhaps a bit too cheery.

"Harry, don't do that. You nearly kill – _scared_ me out of my skin."

Harry gave her a weak smile. "So tell me what, exactly, Hermione?" He looked at her with expectant green eyes.

Suddenly a crash and a great shrieking came from the front door.

"DIRTY BLOOD IN THE NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK! FILTH, ALL OF YOU, FILTH!" The obscenities shouted by the portrait of Mrs. Black rang throughout the house. Hermione could hear the other Order members scrambling to cover the portrait back up, as well as the obvious snigger of whoever had uncovered the painting. Hermione had one guess as to who the culprit was.

"Someone's here?"

"Yes, Hermione, tell him about our visitor," piped up Ron with a pointed look at Hermione.

She shot daggers at Ron and sighed. 'Oh Ronald,' Hermione thought. 'Why do you do this to me?'

"Yes, Harry, someone's here. Um, let's see. There really is no easy way to say it. So, I guess, someone's here and he…"

"Is standing right behind you," finished a cold voice. For the second time that day, Hermione jumped and whipped around to confront the voice.

'Shit,' she thought.

The cold voice belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy, who had somehow made his way into the house and navigated through it well enough to find where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were talking.

Ron, who had just begun to calm down from his exertions in the front yard, turned red once more and launched himself at Draco again. If it were not for Hermione, he would have ended landed it too. But she caught his arms at the last second, using her full body to pull him away from Draco.

"Oh really Ronald, control yourself!" Hermione scolded as she restrained him. "You're acting completely juvenile and…" She was about to continue on when she noticed just exactly what she had done.

Pulling Ron away may or may not have been the best decision Hermione could have made. Stopping Ron from tackling Draco may have saved both parties a significant amount of physical pain, but it also left the path from Harry to Draco absolutely unobstructed.


	3. Ch 3: Reluctant Acceptance

Reluctant Acceptance

Harry was frozen with shock. He stood in the hall with his mouth gaping and his green eyes wide in surprise. He stared at Draco for a full minute, truly not comprehending what he was seeing. To the surprise of all, he made no move towards his wand and no threat of physical violence. Instead, he just stared. Draco felt uncomfortable under Harry's intense green gaze, which was not quite a glare, but not exactly welcoming either.

"Happy to see me, scar head?" Draco taunted, both to break the awkward silence and to get a rise out of Harry.

But Harry did nothing. He simply kept staring at Draco, apparently lost in thought. Draco would have preferred if Harry had tried to take a swing at him or curse him; _something_ as an act of vengeance.

'Merlin knows I deserve it,' thought Draco, steadily looking back into Harry's eyes. Not only had he facilitated Dumbledore's murder and hell, almost murdered the man himself, but he had also made all three of their lives as miserable as humanly possible. And now for Harry just to stand there when he obviously had the advantage… 'It's not right,' Draco thought.

Harry's eyes changed shades almost too quickly for Draco to perceive. A bright, intense flash was anger, no doubt in response to Draco's jibe. But the bright green faded quickly to despair. Draco smirked, knowing exactly how Harry was feeling and that it was the worst pain he could wish on his enemy. Harry broke eye contact with Draco and looked at the wall, trying to hold back the tears that now made his eyes shine.

'Ha, I won,' thought Draco with juvenile triumph, unconsciously lifting his head higher into the air.

Then Harry looked up again. In his eyes now was an emotion that broke Draco's rebellious spirit and tore his attitude to ribbons: pity. Harry gave the smallest shake of his head, communicating with Draco though his mouth was set in a grim line.

'I was there,' the headshake said. 'I saw your resolve waiver. I saw your strength weaken. I saw you back down. I knew you in your moment of weakness and I will never forget it. I hate you for it, but I'm sorry for you.'

Draco's lip curled into a sneer. 'Damn you, Potter,' he thought, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth.

The silence that had taken over was obliterated as fast as it had come. The intense, momentary connection was gone.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here, ferret?" asked Ron venomously.

Malfoy glared at his carrot-topped classmate. "It's none of your business, Weasley," he snapped defensively.

"Like hell it's not, you fucking bastard!"

"Language, Ronald," Hermione hissed.

"Yes, _language, Ronald_," Draco mocked. He laughed cruelly as Hermione huffed and glared at him, arms crossed over her chest.

Ron looked ready to pounce again. He stopped when he heard the familiar clunk of Moody making his way down the hall towards them.

"Oh, so you know he's here then?" Moody asked Harry rhetorically.

Harry nodded anyways. "What is _he_ doing here, Professor?" he asked in a nasty tone.

"Never you mind, Potter. You have more important things to focus on than this piece of pond scum."

Draco scowled at the insult. 'Although, by usual standards,' he thought wryly, 'pond scum is ridiculously tame.'

"Follow me, Mr. Malfoy," Moody grunted. "We have a lot to talk about."

He nodded silently and followed Moody out of the hall and into a small room. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were close on his heels and tried to enter into the room behind him.

"No, no, no. Not you three," Moody growled. He brusquely ushered them out of the room and cast an Imperturbable Charm on the door.

"That'll keep out those damned Extendable Ears," Moody muttered to himself after a satisfied look at the door. "Now, Mister Malfoy, you had better explain yourself, because I have half a mind to hex you on the spot."

'Half a mind is right,' thought Draco as he looked around the room. He was purposely ignoring Moody's question for a time, trying to establish some form of control. Unfortunately, Moody seemed to know what Draco was doing.

"I needn't remind you that you are not amongst friends here, sonny. So I'd start answering some questions if I were you." He withdrew his wand and held it up threateningly. "You made a very nice ferret the last time, I hear."

Draco looked at the wand, his grey eyes lightly filled with some trepidation, then back at Moody. "What do you want to know?"

"Why are you here?"

"Because I want to be," Draco said vaguely. Moody straightened and took a threatening step towards Draco.

"Maybe you misunderstand me," started Moody. He raised his wand at Draco, who looked at him coolly.

"No, I understand you perfectly," he drawled. "Except I can't answer questions if I'm a ferret," he said with a straight face. Draco called Moody's bluff. He waited tensely for the ex-Auror's reaction.

"And I can't expect an honorable answer from a boy who makes such a fine rodent," he muttered, lowering his wand. "It seems that I'll have to do this the hard way."

Moody turned. Draco expected him to pull out a vial of Veritaserum from his oversized trench coat. He prepared for an intense struggle, but need not have worried. Instead of a vial, Moody raised his wand into the air. Out of it appeared a wisp of smoke that zoomed off through the walls. Within two minutes, Draco heard a knock on the door.

"Enter," said Moody in his gravelly voice. A man walked into the room that Draco had never seen before. "This is Channing Orman, our newest Order member. He is our resident Legilimens."

Channing Orman looked to be in his mid-thirties. He was of average height and build. He had mouse-brown hair, a high forehead, dull brown eyes, and a slightly bulging nose. He dressed in standard black robes and carried himself in a manner that was in no way extraordinary. Altogether, Channing Orman was completely and utterly average in every way. And it was for this reason that Draco did not trust him.

'He's too normal…someone who can slip through the cracks,' Draco thought while scrutinizing the content-looking man, whose brown eyes roved passively over everything they encountered. He seemed not to take in anything, but Draco knew that look. Channing was absorbing every minute detail of the room, committing it fully to memory. 'He knows more than he lets on,' Draco thought with certainty.

"You called me, Moody?"

Draco sneered. 'Even his voice is unremarkable. Does the man have even a spark of originality?'

"We need to find out if we can trust sonny jim over there." Moody sharply gestured in Draco's direction with his head, making his spinning eye suddenly change direction.

Channing nodded silently and walked over to Draco.

"Sit down, please," asked Channing politely, gesturing to a chair.

Disgusted with his civility, Draco remained standing and his face took on a haughty air. Put off by his cold reaction, Channing seemed to lose his composure only slightly. He coughed in the back of his throat and mumbled, "Or keep standing."

Draco raised his head proudly as Channing approached him. His eyes were the color of cold metal; he swore the brown eyed man flinched when they made eye contact. Channing tried to smile reassuringly, but it simply appeared as one of nervousness as he silently cast the spell.

A wave of disgust ran through Draco as he was forced to relive some of his most painful memories in front of Channing. There was Draco when he was a tear-filled boy, watching his mother and father having a horrific fight. At Hogwarts now, having his first real encounter with the _famous Harry Potter_ on broomsticks. Third year, getting punched by Granger. Channing went through these memories quickly, although why he was going through them at all was lost upon Draco.

Channing came to the more intense memories quite quickly and set about exploring them thoroughly. He saw Voldemort's cruelty through Draco's eyes, the horror undiminished by time and distance. He saw Voldemort giving Draco orders to kill Dumbledore, Draco failing that mission, and the punishment for his weakness. The pain was still fresh in Draco's mind as well as his body. He flinched as he saw the Cruciatus Curse take hold. His torso hurt as he saw his body being beaten by his father. He felt weak at the sight of his blood upon the cold marble floor.

A black space then appeared in front of Draco's mind, meaning that Channing was seeing this black space as well. Draco could feel him probe further into this chunk of missing memories, but Draco knew he would find nothing. Relenting, Channing skipped to the memory of Draco leaving, once again putting him through seeing his broken mother for possibly the last time.

The spell cut off immediately and Draco felt his whole body relax. He had not realized how tense he was during Channing's scan. His muscles ached slightly and he was breathing deeply.

"Nothing there, Moody. He's clean."

Draco tried not to let the surprise show on his face. Channing failed to mention the obvious chunk of black. 'Any other Legilimens would have reported that immediately,' Draco thought. He caught eyes with Channing and surreptitiously quirked an eyebrow. When he met Channing's eyes, though, he saw something much different than passive observance. His eyes were hard, calculating, and somehow, Draco thought, privy to a piece of information that no one else knew. They were secretive and sneaky, putting Draco further on edge.

The look lasted only a moment, though, as Moody coughed, attracting Channing's full attention. He looked skeptically at Channing; Draco swore he was on the verge of questioning his credentials. But instead, Moody dismissed him a grunt. He turned to Draco now, both eyes glaring at him steadily.

"If I find that you've been hiding anything, boy…"

"You heard him. I'm hiding nothing," Draco said coolly.

"Then what is your purpose here?" Moody asked finally.

Draco looked down and hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to phrase his request. "I'm taking up Dumbledore's offer," Draco said to the floor. He raised his eyes to Moody expectantly. "I want protection."

Moody's face twisted into something akin to a mean smile. "And what if I told you Dumbledore's offer only stood when he was living?"

"Then I'll leave," Draco ceded. "But with him gone, the Order is in disarray."

"It's in no such state!" Moody interrupted defensively.

Draco ignored him. "I just figured that you all could use a little help with investigations. Surely there's something I can do to help."

"Help? _You_?" Moody barked. "Ha! You must think I'm mad if you seriously think I would consider that. One of Voldemort's boys, looking for protection, is not going to be put in with the Order." Moody continued his raspy laugh.

"Fine," said Draco, his cheeks flushing slightly from embarrassment. "I'll leave." As Draco turned to the door, Moody's sharp laugh sounded behind him.

"Not so fast," he said, as Draco turned back around. "The Order does need help." His face twisted into a gnarled grin and he paused dramatically before saying, "Our resident House-Elf has run off."


	4. Ch 4: A Machiavellian Beginning

A Machiavellian Beginning

"I can't hear a thing," said Hermione, whose ear had been pressed against the cold wood door for nearly five minutes. "Can you guys hear anything?"

"Not with your talking," hissed Ron shooting her a look. "Shh!"

Rolling her eyes, she backed away from the door to lean against the wall. Her scowl went unnoticed as Ron turned his attention to the door again. He squished the side of his face against it, distorting it to a mixture of grotesque and comical proportions, blue eyes focused on nothing. Harry had not said a thing since Moody and Draco had gone in there. He just kneeled with his ear pressed against it, a grim expression on his face and a far-away look in his eyes.

Both boys suddenly sprang from their positions on the floor.

"What? What is it?" she asked urgently.

"They're coming out," Harry answered. "Quick, act normally."

Harry and Ron started to talk about Quidditch quite loudly as Channing Orman appeared from the door.

"Oh, hello Mr. Orman," said Harry while poorly feigning surprise. "How are you today?"

Channing shook his head. "I know you were listening outside the door," he said plainly.

"What are you talking about?" Harry said, again pretending quite poorly to be clueless.

"Potter, please. You have a very expressive face. You're a terrible liar."

Unsure if he should take Channing's statement as a compliment or not, Harry chose to ignore it. "What were you doing in there?"

"It's none of your business. But think about it and I'm sure you could come up with an explanation." The trio fell into silence. By the time Harry had formulated a question, Channing had disappeared.

"Well _he_ was helpful," said Ron sarcastically.

"Actually, he was," countered Hermione. "At the end of the school year, who did we lose?"

"Dumbledore," answered Ron. Harry stayed silent.

"Yes, but we lost Snape as well." Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Harry ball his fists.

"I wouldn't really count that as much of a loss, Hermione," said Ron darkly.

"And why would we care about _him_?" asked Harry through clenched teeth.

"Because of what he could do. Snape was skilled in Legilimency, as was Dumbledore. With both of them gone, the Order was in need of one. So then Channing joins…"

"Orman is the new Legilimens!" Ron realized.

"Exactly," she said, surprised and pleased at Ron's quick uptake. "He was obviously probing Malfoy's mind to see if he can be trusted."

"But how good of a Legilimens is he? A skilled Occlumens could easily protect his mind," Harry noted.

"There's no way to know," ceded Hermione. "We just have to hope that Channing is an awfully good Legilimens or that Malfoy is a poor Occlumens."

The conversation died there. Each one of them was thinking the exact same thing: that Channing had better be a damn good Legilimens.

After a minute, Harry went back listening at the door.

'This is futile,' Hermione thought, resuming her relaxed pose against the portrait-covered wall. 'Moody has obviously charmed the door.' She and crossed her arms and stared at the door vacantly, but with her mind whirling. One question wove its way through her thoughts, standing out against all the others: what is Malfoy doing here? Solution after illogical solution appeared in her mind, giving her the most frustrating feeling of dissatisfaction she could imagine. Hermione sighed angrily, earning another loud "Shh!" from Ron.

'_Boys_…' Hermione thought, rolling her eyes.

Harry and Ron were suddenly thrown onto the floor by the swiftly opening door. Had Moody not looked so severe, Hermione would have laughed. Clutching his metal leg in one hand and his wand in the other, Moody hopped out. He had taken off his metal leg in order to facilitate a quieter approach, thus catching Ron and Harry attempting to eavesdrop. They looked up at him in surprise.

"I can see through doors, you know," he growled at the boys. Hermione chuckled to herself, but her glee was cut short as she saw Draco materialize from behind Moody. He was not looking as glum as Hermione had hoped, which gave her reason to be suspicious. She waited on tenterhooks for an explanation.

Unfortunately, no explanation was offered. Instead, Moody issued several orders. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. I need to talk to you both right now. Ms. Granger, show Mr. Malfoy to the empty room at the end of the hall. Your luggage and your owl," he said, addressing Draco now, "are already up there."

Not but a second had passed when Harry and Ron each went into a fit of hysterics coupled with poorly concealed rage. Through his tense laugh, Harry managed to speak. "Professor, you make it seem as if Malfoy is going to be staying with us. That's ridiculous," he said confidently.

"Ridiculous," Ron agreed. "Right?"

"I'm afraid not. Mr. Malfoy will be staying with us for the rest of the summer."

Moody got no further in his explanation than that. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all spoke at once.

"No, Professor, do you know what he tried to do? This piece of shit! I mean..." "Bloody hell! You _are_ mad! Why…" "Would you do this to us? Do you know what he has put us through? This is…"

"My decision!" yelled Moody, silencing the entire group. "I don't expect you lot to understand it, but I do expect you to act reasonably. And that starts with listening to what I say. Potter, Weasley, in here. Granger, take Malfoy upstairs. _Now_."

The edge on his voice and the look in his eye confirmed that Moody was not to be disobeyed. Ron and Harry both cast sorry looks at Hermione, who obviously had the uglier end of the bargain. Moody cast one expressionless look at Hermione and walked in after Harry and Ron, closing the door behind him. Hermione was left alone in the hall with Draco.

She did not spare him one glance. Quickly, she stormed off through the intertwined halls of the House of Black. She took the turns sharply and nearly bolted up the stairs.

"What, Granger? Think that if you walk fast enough, you'll somehow lose me?" Draco taunted from behind her. His long legs easily matched her pace. Fighting the urge to glare at him, Hermione kept walking.

'Finally,' she thought. The empty room at the end of the hall was in sight. 'Just a few more meters…I can make it without slapping him.'

"The portrait downstairs was right," Draco drawled. "There is _filth_ in this house." Hermione bristled, knowing that he was not commenting on the state of the floors. She bit her tongue as he continued. "If my history is correct, the Black family was one of the purest bloodlines, next to my own, of course. Pity it had to be reduced to _this_."

They arrived at Draco's door, which Hermione bodily shoved open. "Meals are usually announced. If you miss one, you eat alone. Don't go into any of the other rooms unless you are instructed to do so. The bathroom is down the hall – the third door on the right." She said all this very quickly and in a terse voice. She turned to go, amazed at her resiliency for putting up with Malfoy's taunts. Just as she thought she was safe, he spoke.

"Now tell me Granger, because I'm curious." Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. She knew from the tone Draco was using that what he was going to say next was not going to be pleasant. "Has Potter ever told you what happened that evening on the tower the night that Dumbledore died?" He paused dramatically. "How he did nothing to stop the Headmaster's death?"

"What would you know about it?" she hissed.

XOX

It was almost too easy. "Granger," Draco said, followed by a short laugh, "_I was there_." His lips twisted into an evil smirk and his eyes narrowed, glinting dangerously.

Hermione snapped. She rounded on Draco, fury making her brown eyes leap. She raised his hand to hit him. Just before her palm landed with a satisfying smack on her target, a grip like a vice caught her wrist. She cried out in surprise and pain. Before she could retaliate, she was turned around, her arm twisted painfully behind her back. Malfoy jerked her arm up, making Hermione cry out in pain. She rose onto her tiptoes trying to alleviate the hurt.

"He never told you then, did he Granger?" Malfoy hissed in her ear, taking delight in the look of fear that he knew was on her face. "Had to read it in the papers, eh?" With her body up against his, Draco realized just how much taller he was than her. He also noticed how fragile she was in his arms. 'I could snap her in two,' he thought with a malicious grin, and tightened his brutal hold.

"He'll tell us when he's ready," Hermione said, her voice shaking slightly. This broke Draco out of his thoughts.

"When he's ready. Ha!" Draco scoffed. "Potter is a coward, Granger, we both know that. He's weak, and his weaknesses are what will cost him in the end. Unless he can master his faults, he will never win against the Dark Lord."

"Harry is not weak, Malfoy. For one thing, he doesn't resort to violence to get what he wants. In that way, he's stronger than most," she spat.

Her insult was not lost on Draco. He scowled and lifted Hermione's arm up higher. He smiled as he heard her whimper in discomfort. As he spoke to her, he raised her arm higher up her back, slowly increasing her pain. "I owe you for your greeting at the door," he said, a sick smile coating his voice. "Watch your back, _Mudblood_."

With that final whispered threat, Draco threw her away from him. Unprepared for the sudden lack of support, Hermione fell forward onto the floor with only one arm to catch her. She landed on her side with a grunt. Immediately, she flipped onto her back; she was afraid to keep her eyes off Draco for too long.

She brought her eyes to his. Her chocolate brown orbs were swirling in an interesting new way. For the first time, she looked at Draco with fear.

'About time,' Draco thought smugly.

He watched coolly as she picked herself up quickly. She backed down the hall, cradling her sore right arm. Once she was a few meters from him, she turned her back and strode quickly towards the stairs. Twice, he saw her look back. Twice, he met her look with the same stony face of apathy that he had spent years perfecting.

Draco heard her go down the stairs and, feeling quite proud of himself, stepped into his new room, which desperately needed a good cleaning. A layer of dust coated all the furniture, even, to Draco's horror, the bedspread. He ruffled the sheets and sneezed as dust tickled his nose.

"They could have at least cleaned up a bit," Draco said to himself. Drawing his wand from his pant's pocket, he set to cleaning the room. He opened the window widely, allowing his eagle owl to come and go as he pleased. Several "_Scourgify_!"s later, the room was bereft of all evidence of disuse. The dust was no more and the cobwebs that were hanging in the corners like thick pearly veils were gone, as were the spiders and bloodless insects that dwelled within them.

Draco looked around the cleaned room, still frowning. It was considerably smaller than his room at home and considerably simpler as well. A modest single bed was located on the far side of the room, next to which was a small window. A bureau lay on the other side of the room. When Draco had been cleaning, he was not able to totally remove the funny stench coming from it.

The room definitely needed work, but Draco had a whole summer to improve it. For now, satisfied that it was at least a little bit more sanitary, he flopped down onto the bed and thought about his little "game" with Hermione. He knew he should not have brought up the scene on the roof, but such an opportunity was impossible to resist. Though it showcased his own faults, it would also shake her confidence in Harry. And any chance he had to weaken Hermione's faith in her precious hero…well, Draco would take it without hesitation.

He chuckled as he remembered the look of fear on her face. 'She won't tell Potter or Weasley either,' he thought confidently. 'She won't want to worry them.' Then, something hit him. Something surprising, but not at all depressing. He thought how fragile she felt in his arms, the stark look of fear in her eyes, and the almost erotic feeling of control he had over her. 'Control…' he thought, shivering in twisted delight. 'Won't that be nice…'

His mind drifted off into that direction for a bit and he dozed, having the most delightful daydream of Granger serving him meals and cleaning his manor while Draco lounged about on his black leather furniture, basking in the satisfied glow of a job well done.


	5. Ch 5: Summer Suspicions

Summer Suspicions

Draco's flight from Malfoy Manor and his subsequent acceptance into the Order of the Phoenix was the commencement of a truly awful summer. Sure, he was away from Voldemort and his father, but at least those two men could stand to look at him. Draco's existence was acknowledged, even if it was in the form of orders and beatings.

'Well, the orders part hasn't changed much,' he thought while dusting off an ignored dresser in a long-forgotten room. He sneezed loudly as some of the dust traveled up his nose, causing more dust to explode from the old surface. He coughed and reeled away from the dresser, rubbing his gray eyes rid of the dust. He glared grumpily at the offending furniture and flopped down on the bed, onto which he had just put newly washed sheets. He sighed as he looked at the ceiling.

Draco hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was feeling quite lonely. He had been living at Grimmauld Place for nearly a week now. Hardly anyone in the Order even looked at him, to say nothing of talking to him. The only interaction he had involved people telling him what room he would be cleaning and which household pests to avoid

He stared moodily at the ceiling for a bit longer, growing ever more discontent, when the door to the room swung open. Draco sat up on the bed, quickly drawing his wand. What he saw surprised him.

Hermione and Ron stumbled into the room. Their lips were locked in what looked to be a ferocious, but sloppy kiss. Draco could hear Ron's tongue work its way in and out of Hermione's mouth. The sound sickened him.

Unwilling, and nearly unable, to hold his silence any longer, Draco cleared his throat and drawled, "You have no form whatsoever, Weasley."

They broke apart immediately, blood rushing to Hermione's already-flushed cheeks and reddening Ron's ears. Ron was embarrassed into silence at being caught, but Hermione, refusing to be intimidated by Draco, spoke up.

"And you know what 'good form' is then, Malfoy?" she said bitingly.

"As a matter of fact, Granger," he said cockily, leaning back against his elbows on the bed, "I do." He gave her a knowing smirk and winked roguishly, causing her to sneer in disgust.

"I don't think Parkinson counts, Malfoy. You're supposed to snog another human, not a dog."

Draco's proud expression fell at the mention of Pansy's name. His relationship with her had never been anything but physical, but he was still defensive. After all, she had been his first time. More importantly, he was not about to let his taste be insulted, and by Granger of all people!

"Leave her out of this," Draco said, standing up.

"A little defensive of your bitch, Malfoy?" countered Ron for the first time since he stumbled in. Hermione's audacity seemed to have inspired him and he looked confidently at Malfoy.

A vicious smile appeared on the blonde boy's face. With venom lacing his voice, he hissed, "Better a bitch than a _Mudblood_."

In a flash, Ron withdrew his wand. Anger flared in his bright blue eyes. "I'm sick of you, Malfoy! _Sectum_-"

"No Ronald!" Hermione screamed. Hermione knocked Ron's wand arm, causing the curse to erupt from his wand and land about a meter from where Draco was standing. A hole the size of a football was blasted into the wall, leaving nasty-looking scorch marks.

"Hermione!" Ron rounded on her. "Why did you do that?"

"Because it would have hit you!" she yelled back indignantly. "Look!"

Indeed, Ron's curse would have ended up rebounding back on him. Draco had silently cast a protective shield around himself when he saw Ron go for his wand. The sheer shimmer of protection around him was easily seen by one who was paying attention, but not to one who was hastily casting a spell.

"Looks like Granger just saved your life, Weasley. Isn't it supposed to be the other way round? Or is the Mudblood wearing the pants in the relationship?" Draco gave a wry laugh and smirked at Ron's sudden self-consciousness.

Hermione noticed the change in her friend. "Come on, Ron. Let's get out of here." She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door, glancing back once to shoot a dangerous glare at Draco. He simply smirked even more and mouthed the words, "I owe you," into the air.

Hermione raised her head defiantly, wordlessly ignoring his threat. A second later, she was out the door after Ron. He heard the clumsy boy ask Hermione if she thought he was manly and the faint laugh of her reply. The rest of their conversation was heard only by the walls as they moved out of Draco's range.

'Well,' he thought, moving back over to the dresser, 'at least I get some form of entertainment around here.' With a smile on his lips, he resumed cleaning the dresser, in quite a better mood now that he got to insult both Ron and Hermione in one go.

XOX

After his little incident with Ron and Hermione, Draco spent two weeks without the least bit of human contact. He received angry glares from the trio whenever he had the misfortune to pass them in the halls.

'Granger and Wealsey must have told Potter what happened,' Draco thought as he ignored another one of Harry's irritated looks. 'They can't keep a secret between them.'

Draco was busy making rounds through the house, armed with his wand and a rubbish bin. Today, he was instructed to pick up any trash that may be lying on the floor. He was to visit all the rooms, save one: the meeting room where Draco had first talked to Moody. He was told that under no circumstances should he ever enter that room again unless an Order member was there with him. Moody had told him that the punishments for disobeying would be "severe" and "mightily unpleasant".

But Draco was not deterred by such vague threats. He was going into that room. And he was going in alone for the sheer purpose of disobeying a direct order.

Before even approaching the door, Draco flicked a few pieces of trash at it. They hit the door – an Imperturbable charm had not been cast upon it. Now he could take the next step and listen for signs of life from within the room. He walked casually over to it and crouched down, pretending to pick up the trash. He placed his ear to the door and heard nothing.

Draco smiled and withdrew his wand. He tried the handle, which, to his great surprise, turned with ease.

'For a room that is off limits, it is remarkably easy to access…' The ease of his entry made Draco suspicious. His senses stayed sharp as he silently closed the door. He placed his trash bag in an inconspicuous corner of the room and started his perusal of the off-limits area.

He wandered over to one of the tables and glanced at the papers upon it. 'Schematics,' he thought as he rifled through them. 'These are of the Dark Lord's old hide-out. I'm surprised they have this much intelligence on him.' His eyes wandered over to a list of three possible locations for his new hideout. 'Where he is now is their number one choice,' Draco thought. He was tempted for a moment to destroy the documents, his old loyalty returning in a dangerous fashion.

He was about to set the papers aflame when he heard footsteps outside the door. Without a second's hesitation, Draco dove behind a couch, praying that he would not be seen in his glaringly obvious hiding spot.

'If Moody comes in, I'm fucked,' Draco thought.

But the recognizable thud of Moody's heavy metal boot upon the floor was not present. Draco let out a sigh of relief. The ordinary brown shoes moved quickly through the room, stopping numerous times to pivot back towards the door.

'Whoever is in here is not supposed to be,' thought Draco with certainty. 'I wonder...'

The brown shoes passed the couch and stopped at the table where Draco was standing not but one minute before. Draco decided to take a peek. He inched out slightly from behind the couch, just enough to see the stranger's head.

'Brown hair,' Draco thought with a sensation of familiarity. The man then turned around, affording Draco a better view of his face. Who it was made his jaw drop.

Channing Orman turned back around. Draco saw him going through the papers on the desk. Eventually, Channing found what he wanted. He folded it up and shoved it into his pocket. Looking furtively around the room once more, he silently walked out of the room and shut the door with as little noise as possible.

Draco stayed crouched under the couch, listening for his possible return. When a minute of silence passed, he lifted himself up, brushing off the cobwebs and dust that had settled onto his clothes.

"Let's see what Orman took," Draco said to himself. The papers on the table were arranged very much like how they were found. 'He's good,' Draco thought. 'There's no evidence that he ever was here, except for…hm…' Draco narrowed his eyes in thought: the list of Voldemort's hideouts was gone.

He took quick stock of the other papers on the table and left in a hurry. He did not want to be in that room longer than he had to be, especially after what he suspected was a theft had taken place. He crossed the room in a few strides and picked up his hidden garbage bag. Checking that the coast was clear, Draco exited the room and walked a few meters away. Lines of thought appeared on Draco's forehead, disappearing into his hairline.

'What could Orman possibly want with that list?'

Draco had some thinking to do.

XOX

Summer was half-over now, and Draco was starting to feel the heat, both literally and figuratively. Today, the Order had him de-gnoming the yard. The noon sun beat down on his pale skin, making it uncomfortably red. He had long since abandoned his t-shirt, opting instead to work bare-chested in the yard. He was now beginning to regret that decision. Draco had experienced a sunburn only once before on a spontaneous summer holiday in the Caribbean. But that was when he was much younger. Now, he would have another one and he was certain it would not be any fun.

Things were also heating up around the Order. Draco was unaware if anyone had noticed that the list of locations had gone missing, but a few days after Orman took it the Order started to buzz with activity. Draco only heard snippets of conversation, so he was largely unaware of what was happening. The few bits that he did know involved the locations of a few Horcruxes. This had Harry leaving Grimmauld Place for days at a time with other Order members, much to the chagrin of Ron and Hermione but the delight of Draco.

But Ron did not have too much time available to dwell on the fact that his friend was away on possibly life-threatening missions. He had received an assignment as well: he was to work on recruitment with Remus, Hagrid, and Charlie. This meant he was often gone as well. Currently, both of them were away, leaving Hermione alone and unprotected.

Draco smirked at the opportunity. 'I'd be mad to let this pass,' he thought wickedly. He did not know exactly what he was going to do, but he knew it would be good.

He heaved another kicking gnome over the fence with a grunt and squinted up into the unrelenting sun. He wiped sweat from his fair brow and made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat.

"I'm a Slytherin prince, and here I am doing servants work," he grumbled as he chucked another gnome out of the garden. "I think it's time for a break."

Feeling grimy and sticky from his sweat, Draco sighed in relief as the glorious shade of the porch touched his skin. He prodded his arm a few times with his finger. His skin returned to its normal whiteness for a moment, then transformed almost immediately back into red.

"Fantastic," he muttered underneath his breath. "Fan-bloody-tastic."

He tugged his shirt back and was about to open the kitchen door when he heard voices from within. He recognized Hermione's almost immediately. The other voice was vaguely familiar as well.

"Ms. Granger, you have to understand-"

"No, I don't!" Draco heard Hermione say angrily through the door. "Ron and Harry get to go out on these missions, these dangerous trips, and I am stuck here. What good am I doing?" she asked.

"You're-"

"I'm not doing anything!" Hermione cut in before the man could answer. "I'm completely useless." Instead of angry, Hermione now sounded close to tears. "I just wish I could be of some help."

Draco heard the man sigh, then say in a low voice, "You'll have a mission soon enough, Hermione. I know it for a fact." Draco could imagine Hermione's skeptical expression. The man continued talking. "Moody will tell you about it soon enough, I imagine. He's actually quite afraid you won't accept it."

"What mission would I not accept? What is it? Please, Mr. Orman?"

Draco stiffened. 'Orman again. That man is everywhere…'

"I'm afraid I can't say anymore right now. But don't worry; you'll face your share of dangers soon enough, Ms. Granger. Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be."

Draco heard Orman walk out of the room, but to his knowledge Hermione was still there.

'Perfect,' he thought with a smirk as he silently crept into the kitchen.


	6. Ch 6: Sweet Revenge

Sweet Revenge

Hermione was dumb with excitement when Channing told her that she would receive an assignment soon.

'I wonder what it will be,' she speculated while getting a glass of lemonade. Possibilities raced through her mind, each as unlikely and more tantalizing than the next. 'It doesn't even matter!' she smiled to herself. 'I'm getting an assignment! I get to be useful!'

She contentedly took a small sip of the tangy brew, rolling it around her mouth and over her tongue, enjoying the simultaneous tartness and sweetness. It was simply perfect for such a hot day. She swallowed and took another sip when she heard a voice from directly behind her.

"No lemonade for me, Granger?"

Hermione jumped a mile high and spat out her drink in surprise, showering the kitchen with a fine, sticky spray. She whipped around, spilling even more of it onto the floor. She then came eye-to-eye with Draco, who had somehow managed to sneak up right behind her without making a single sound.

"Such a mess you're making Granger. I hope you intend to clean it all up," he drawled with a raised eyebrow.

"No," she choked, clutching her throat. "I expect you to."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Don't forget what I owe you, Granger. Potty and the Weasel aren't here to protect you now. Orman is gone, as are the other Order members. It would be advisable to listen to me."

"In your dreams," Hermione retorted. She knocked past Draco, putting so much force into her hit that he pivoted slightly.

"Hey!" he said, roughly grabbing her arm. "Did I say you could leave?"

Hermione felt her anger grow and tried to restrain it. As much fun as it would be to aggravate Malfoy, he had a point. She was alone and had left her wand in her room. He was bigger than she was and could easily hurt her if he so chose, which was a distinct possibility and most likely his first choice. She yanked her arm out of Draco's strong grasp, but stayed where she was, staring defiantly up at him. This seemed to please him. He smirked as he talked.

"So, you haven't gotten a mission yet, Granger?"

She narrowed her eyes. "It's none of your business."

"Or is it?" he asked paradoxically.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "You're not making sense, Malfoy. Don't assume that you know more about my assignment than I do, because I know you don't. You aren't allowed to have any contact with the Order meetings. You're clueless as to what is going on." She saw his face get a little redder and his mouth thin with anger. "So nice bluff, Malfoy," she continued, now the one smirking, "but it's not going to work."

With that, she turned to go, only to find his hard grip on her arm once more. He moved close behind her and whispered into her ear, "I'm not as clueless as you may think, Granger. I know that Potter is off searching for the Horcruxes. I know Weasley is in Romania with one of his 17 _pathetic_ brothers, the werewolf, and that oaf recruiting. I know more than you think, and now, more than you yourself know."

Hermione was surprised that Draco knew so much about the Order's doings. "You've been listening at doorways," she accused with narrowed eyes. Her face was dangerously close to his.

He gave her a sly smile and his grey eyes sparkled mischievously. "Whatever works."

She sneered at him. "You're despicable."

"You have no idea," he said cryptically. "_Petrificus totalus_."

Hermione froze, literally. She did not notice that Draco had slipped his wand from his pocket. She was completely unprepared for the attack and could do nothing to reverse the spell.

Draco took a step back to admire his handiwork. He smiled and appraised Hermione like DaVinci himself.

"Now where to put you?" She saw his eyes sweep the room and land on a broom closet. "Perfect."

Draco's hands then wrapped around Hermione's hips. If she was able to speak, she would have gasped in surprise, not only at his audacity but also how warm his hands felt against her skin. With almost no effort at all, Draco hefted the statuesque Hermione into the closet. He set her down and leaned her unsteadily against an assortment of mop handles coated in spider webs. She tried to glare at him, but her eyelids would not cooperate.

"Bye-bye, Granger," Draco chuckled sarcastically as he gave a wave. He started to close the door, then stopped.

'Maybe he's having second thoughts,' hoped Hermione nonsensically.

"Oh, and one more thing," he said as an afterthought. "Go ahead and tell everyone how I bested you. I don't care if I get into trouble. It will at least show that even the 'cleverest witch of our year' can be beaten by someone more cunning." He smirked and shut the door, leaving Hermione in total darkness.

She heard the soft tread of his footsteps walk away and the nearly silent click of a door being closed. She waited in silence (as if she had a choice) for Draco to return and tell her that it was all a big joke. Why he would have done this was beyond her. She clung to the thought for about five long minutes, then decided that she was being silly.

'Bastard!' Hermione thought vindictively. 'He knows I won't have any other choice but to tell whoever finds me what happened. He'll get an ego boost no matter what...' She fumed for a bit, trying to break the spell's hold, but knowing that it was near impossible. 'I'll make him pay for this,' she thought resolutely. 'He's going to be sorry...'

XOX

Hermione was found several hours later by a more-than-surprised Mrs. Weasley.

"Hermione, dear!" she shrieked. With a wave of her wand, Hermione was unfrozen.

She regained her footing, then lost it just as quickly. All Hermione could do as her legs gave way utter a little squeak of fright. Her knees cracked against the hardwood floors and her palms stung as they hit with a smack. Not being able to react quick enough, her head bounced off the wood with a great thud and lights flashed before her eyes, which were filling with reflexive tears.

Mrs. Weasley was at her side in an instant. "Oh, careful now, Hermione. That's it, nice and slow." Her maternal instincts took over as she gently urged Hermione into a sitting position.

"Oooh," Hermione groaned. "I ache all over." She stretched her arms out above her head and to her sides as best she could. She rolled her neck and heard several joints pop along her back as she flexed. Her legs still felt like pudding; Hermione was quite sure she would have to spend a decent amount of time sitting before they decided to work once more.

Mrs. Weasley sighed and shook her head, massaging one of Hermione's arms and summoning an ointment for her head. Then it came, the inevitable question: "Dear, what happened?"

Hermione glowered at a spot on the wall. She could not make eye contact with Mrs. Weasley while she told of how she had been bested by, of all people, Draco Malfoy.

But to her great satisfaction, Draco got in trouble for his little stunt. Not only was he vigorously scolded and assigned extra chores, but once Ron and Harry found out, each of them hexed him on several different occasions. They claimed the Jelly-Legs Jinxes and Bat-Bogey Hexes were all just "slips of the wand". Moody knew the truth, but allowed it to happen anyways. Hermione liked to think that her old professor was fond of seeing Malfoy in different levels of discomfort and wondered if he ever considered changing Malfoy into a ferret permanently.

Hermione reclined in her bed, lofting her current book above her. She paused for a moment and sighed, thinking about the characters. She was in the progress of reading a Muggle book that most girls her age had read and adored: _Pride and Prejudice_ by Jane Austen. Hermione was completely caught up in the lives of the characters. She felt very much akin to strong-willed and intelligent Elizabeth and saw a bit of Ron in easygoing, goofy, and shy Mr. Bingley.

'It's obvious that my fictional counterpart is not going to end up with Mr. Bingley,' she mused. 'I wonder if I will.'

She frowned slightly. Her relationship with Ron had only been average as of late, if that. Although they had bickered plenty while just friends, their fighting escalated as soon as they became a couple.

'Not to mention Malfoy's influence,' Hermione thought sourly. 'Ever since we walked in on him, Ron has been trying to act all…manly. It's so irritating.'

Her thoughts then took a turn. 'Malfoy,' she thought. 'Now Malfoy has Mr. Darcy written all over him: arrogant, class-conscious, and desperately needing a lesson in humility. But there is one worrying factor. Elizabeth is bound to end up with Mr. Darcy. They're perfect for each other…'

Whatever thought may have come next disappeared as a pale hand snatched the book from her grasp.

"Malfoy," she growled, "give that back."

"No," he answered simply.

"Give it here!" she demanded. She rose from the bed and stood with her hands on her hips openly glaring at the boy now rifling through the pages of her book.

"What is this anyways?"

"It's a book, Malfoy. I know you may be unfamiliar with the concept of books and reading and actual _intelligence_, but you can at least try to understand."

Malfoy ignored her jibe and perused the back cover. "Sounds dumb," he said and tossed it carelessly onto the floor.

With an indignant gasp, Hermione shoved past Draco and picked up her book. A few pages were now crinkled due to his negligence.

"Malfoy, you idiot. Look at what you did!" She shoved the wrinkled page underneath his nose. He shoved it away.

"Temper, Granger," he said with a cocked eyebrow. "You remember what happened last time you got short with me."

"I won't allow that to happen again," Hermione retorted. She grabbed her wand from her nightstand, eyes blazing with cautionary fire.

Draco eyed the wand apathetically. "I wasn't about to waste my time," he said lazily. Then, he started to meander towards the door.

"Wait, why the hell did you come in here in the first place?" she asked him.

"Oh, yes!" he said theatrically. He spun around and faced Hermione with a smile. "Moody wants to see you downstairs," he said pleasantly.

Hermione was immediately suspicious. A smiling Draco was never a good sign. "Why?"

"And they said you were clever. It pertains to your mission, obviously."

Hermione sneered at him.

"Oh, and they wanted you down there about ten minutes ago," he added as an afterthought.

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. Her face tightened into an expression which made her look like she had swallowed a lemon. She rounded on him dangerously. "And they just sent you up now?!"

"No, they sent me ten minutes ago. I just took my time."

Hermione let out a poorly restrained growl of frustration. She rushed out of the room, knocking past a snickering Draco and silently promising revenge.


	7. Ch 7: Hermione's Mission

Hermione's Mission

Hermione yanked open the meeting room door, facing the expectant looks of all the important Order members. All, save for Ron and Harry, looked quite annoyed because of her tardiness. She mumbled an apology and took a seat between her friends.

"It's nice of you to join us, Ms. Granger," grunted Moody from across the room. Several Order members took this as an opportunity to discuss amongst themselves the nature of Hermione's lateness. While Moody tried to call the distracted group back to attention, both Ron and Harry leaned in.

"Hermione, why were you so late?" whispered Harry.

"Malfoy does not make as good of a messenger as you all think he does," she seethed.

Hermione wanted to continue, but the room silenced before she could speak more.

"I suppose you all want to know why we are meeting on a day when there is nothing scheduled," Moody preempted. "It's none of your business why we are; we meet when we need to. That's the nature of the Order. But I will explain anyways. We need to hear updates from our three newest Order members who have been working throughout the summer. Ron, we'll start with you."

Ron stood, as did Charlie, who was also at the meeting. Between them, they covered how recruitment was going.

"People are willing to support our cause," Ron said confidently. "The governments of several countries said that we could call on them if we needed to. They would be more than happy to help."

"And where is Hagrid with his report on giants?"

"Due to injuries he sustained in the field, Hagrid couldn't be here today," said Charlie. "But he did get a bit further with them than last time. I think he convinced a whole clan of them to join."

"Every bit helps," said Moody. "And Remus? What is his status?"

"Check you calendar, sir," answered Charlie.

"Ah, yes. Well, anything else to report then?"

"Just that we're trying our hardest to encourage support. We're confident that more people will join."

"Good, good. Harry, what about you?"

It was now Harry's turn to stand, which he did with little encouragement. He eagerly launched into his tales about finding two of the Horcruxes and destroying each one. His tales earned mighty rounds of applause and numerous claps on the back by many an excited member.

"Great job, Harry," Hermione whispered to him as he sat back down.

"Orman? Do you have anything to report?"

"Nothing new. I've not been able to find out anything about You-Know-Who's newest hiding locations. All searches I have made have turned up inconclusive. I'm still looking, though," Channing said levelly.

"So you have nothing?"

"Regrettably, no sir. But I will do everything in my power to attain the required information."

"Fine. You all may be excused, save for Tonks, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. You can stay as well, Channing."

They watched as the other members filed out, happily chatting about Harry's discovery of Horcruxes and the support they were gathering from neighboring countries. Once the other members left and the door was shut, Moody visibly relaxed.

"I hate talking in front of that crowd…gets me antsy," Moody said more to himself than the group. His electric blue eye spun wildly in the socket and settled on Hermione for a moment.

"Now that the main part of the meeting is over, it's time to discuss what you three will be doing as far as your schooling goes."

Before Moody could get any farther, Harry cut in. "I'm not going back," he said in a firm voice. He steadfastly held Moody's appraising gaze, his eyes holding no indecision.

"And no one asked you to, Potter. Your work is here now."

Harry relaxed his tense body against the plush armchair. He looked serene now, but Hermione saw a bit of the past float into his eyes, clouding them with a mixture of sadness, anger, and revenge. She shivered at the unfamiliar sight.

"And we get to work with Harry, right?" asked Ron hopefully.

Moody raised a gnarled eyebrow at Ron. "No, Mr. Weasley. Both you and Ms. Granger will be attending Hogwarts."

"What?! Why? Harry needs our help! We have to stay here with him."

"Harry will have the whole Order behind him. You will be helping him by helping yourself. And Molly would never consent to you not finishing Hogwarts," Tonks said.

"This is rubbish," Ron complained. "Hermione, come on. This is rubbish, yeah?"

Hermione simply shook her head. "No, it's not. Think about it, Ron. We're not strong enough yet to wage a full-fledged war on Voldemort. We still have a lot to learn. And what about our futures? This fight isn't going to last forever. We'll need jobs. Going back to Hogwarts is the most logical option we have."

Ron glared at Hermione. "How could you take his side instead of Harry's?" he accused.

"If you haven't noticed, Ronald, Professor Moody and Harry are _on the same side_. Don't accuse me of not supporting him!"

"Well, it's not like you've done anything to help," Ron blurted.

As soon as he spoke, Ron realized his mistake. Hermione's eyes flared with anger for a moment, then turned hard as stone, masking the sadness she instinctively felt. She was about to stand up and leave when Moody spoke.

"About that, Ms. Granger. It's time for your first assignment."

Hermione's head shot up at Moody's words, as did Harry's and Ron's. All three listened with rapt attention.

"McGonagall doesn't know I'm telling you this, but you'll find out within the next few days anyways when your letters arrive. As you probably assumed, Ms. Granger, you have been made Head Girl."

Hermione looked truly surprised at the news and beamed widely. Harry and Ron nodded sagely, as if they had known all along, and patted her on the back.

"Your letter will detail all your responsibilities and privileges. As you well know, the Head Girl shares a dormitory with the Head Boy."

"Oh, who is it?" interrupted Hermione. "I bet it's Ernie; he was always really intelligent. Or maybe it's…"

"Draco Malfoy."

Hermione stopped mid-sentence and turned her head to Moody. Her jaw was nearly to the floor in shock. Confusion whirled in her eyes as she struggled to formulate complete sentences. Harry and Ron were silent.

"But…how? Why? What? This can't be. Malfoy? After last year…letting the Death Eaters in…with Dumbledore…there's no reason for it. He shouldn't even be returning to Hogwarts! But to be given the honor of Head Boy? There must be a mistake."

"No mistake, Ms. Granger. This was done intentionally in order for you to complete your mission. We do not believe that Mr. Malfoy came here of his own choosing. Even after having him searched by Orman, we still feel that he is a spy for Voldemort. And so we wish you to be a spy for us."

"You want me to spy on Malfoy, then? Is that what you're saying?"

"Exactly. We arranged that he be made Head Boy to make it easier for you. You will almost always be in close proximity to him and you are to take note of any suspicious actions. Read his mail, snoop around in his room, try to urge any information of Voldemort's whereabouts out of him. You are to report to Orman or me with any information that you may gather. Yet be warned. Malfoy may be nothing more than a ferret," Moody spat, "but the bugger is cunning and more than capable with a wand."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "Does Malfoy know that he's Head Boy yet?"

"He doesn't even know he is attending Hogwarts this year. He'll find out tomorrow when his letter arrives. We'll deal with him then. Do you accept this mission, Ms. Granger?"

Without hesitation, Hermione answered. "Yes, of course."

"Good then. Oh, and one more thing. Whatever you do, do not trust him. That boy is as greasy as his hair with the disposition of an insulted hippogriff. Do _not_ trust him."

Hermione nodded gravely at Moody's serious tone.

"You three may be excused."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione said short goodbyes and walked quickly from the room.

"Come on," said Harry. "Up to my room. We have to talk about this."

They walked up the stairs, each keeping a careful lookout for Draco. Hermione did not know if she could handle another encounter with him, especially so soon after learning that she would be living with him for an entire year.

Harry shut and locked the door to his room. "Why did you say yes?" he said in a stern tone.

Hermione's confused expression hid the small bit of anger that she felt. "Why wouldn't I have agreed?"

"It's dangerous, Hermione. _He's_ dangerous. You of all people should know that. Moody placed you in undue jeopardy. I think I'm going to talk to him about it, perhaps persuade him to give the mission to someone else."

Hermione leapt in front of the door. "Harry James Potter, you shall do no such thing," she said, barring the way. "You and Ron go out on dangerous missions all the time, missions that threaten your very _life_. I'm going to Hogwarts where I'll be protected by my teachers and my friends. No one else will be able to do it as well as I. I've known him for almost seven years now."

"But Hermione," said Ron, "now you're actually living with the brute. What if he attacks you?"

"Then I'll hex him right back. I'm not going to be caught unprepared by him again. I can handle myself." She looked at them steadily. "He doesn't frighten me."

'Too much,' she added mentally. For Malfoy did frighten her a bit. His intensity was worrying. She had a feeling that once he was committed to something, there was no breaking him of it.

Ron and Harry looked at each other hesitantly. After a moment, Harry turned to Hermione. "I want a report every week, from both of you," he said to Ron. "I want to know what's happening and how everything is going. If anything happens, write to me directly and I promise I'll take care of it. Just…" he broke off, looking down at his sneakers. "Just be careful, Hermione."

Hermione thought she saw a teary sheen in Harry's bright green eyes. She moved from the door and hugged her friend. "I promise, Harry. I'll be careful."

'You won't lose me,' she thought.

She pulled out of Harry's arms and went into Ron's. "Thank you both for trusting me with this. It really means a lot." She wiped an errant tear from her eye as she smiled at her two best friends. "Now I really have to write home to my parents. They'll be ecstatic. Head Girl! Who would've thought?" She left the room with a smile.

XOX

Harry watched Hermione leave the room. His friendly smile turned into a frown.

"I don't like this," he said to Ron. "I don't like this at all."

Ron made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat.

"I know you two may not be getting on the best right now, but watch her, Ron. Protect her."

Ron looked at his friend confidently. "I will."


	8. Ch 8: Reaction Time

Reaction Time

To Moody's word, the letters arrived by owl post the next day. Hermione eagerly ripped open her letter, which was about the same thickness of Draco's. Eager to prove to herself that Moody was telling the truth, she read the note that informed her she was to be Head Girl.

As she reached the last sentence of the letter, which was hard to do for the tears of happiness obscuring her vision, a shiny gold badge materialized on the table. She dropped the letter and picked up the badge with reverence. She tried not to smudge the perfect golden shine it had when reflecting the light. She smiled widely as she received congratulations from the Order members.

Draco walked into the happy scene with a scowl. He immediately noticed the golden badge in Hermione's hand and was about to make a unkind remark about her being a know-it-all Mudblood when he noticed the ten armed Order members standing around her.

'Maybe later,' he thought shrewdly.

He saw Ron reading his letter as well, but saw that he had no badge. 'Not surprising,' Draco thought with a smirk. 'He was just about useless as a Prefect…'

"Here's your letter, Malfoy," said Hermione. She shoved the thick envelope underneath his nose and took a step back. "Open it," she said in an unusually soft and almost frightened voice.

He shot her a curious look and hefted the letter in his hands. It felt heavier than usual. That, and Hermione's odd actions, made him suspicious.

"I'm not going to Hogwarts this year, Granger," he said in an obvious tone. He tossed the letter onto the table and turned to leave.

"Oh yes you are, sonny," said Moody who suddenly appeared right in front of Draco.

He openly glared at the ex-Auror. "_No_, I'm not," he said sternly. "I'll do work here at the Order – continue on with what I'm already doing. There's no way I'm going back."

"Dumbledore's deal didn't extend through the school year, boy. You'll be going back or you'll be out on the street. And I don't think a defector from Voldemort would do very well on his own. So you'll be going, whether you like it or not," Moody said. He did not bother to disguise his threatening tone.

Draco thought about Moody's words. 'Bloody hell. He's right. I need to stay here, or at least be under their surveillance. Fuck,' he silently fumed.

Without saying a word, Draco ripped open his letter. The first note he got was written in McGonagall's sharp script.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

I am pleased to inform you that you have been given the prestigious responsibility of Head Boy for this year.

The position of Head Boy requires much more responsibility, but also has quite a few advantages. You are now allowed to check out books in the Restricted Section of the library, have the location and password to the school kitchens, an extended curfew, and share a dormitory with the Head Girl. You will receive more instructions on the Hogwarts Express in the front compartment.

I offer you my congratulations and am sure that you will fulfill this post to the best of your abilities.

Yours,

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

A golden badge, nearly identical to the one Hermione was holding, materialized on the kitchen table. Draco looked at it in horrified astonishment.

"This is a mistake," he said quietly, still staring wide-eyed at the badge. "This has to be a mistake."

"No mistake, Mr. Malfoy," said Moody. "You're Head Boy this year."

"I can't…I…I _can't_," he stuttered. His face was paler than normal and his eyes were wide in shock.

"You don't have a choice," said Moody with an air of finality. "We'll go to Diagon Alley in a few days for your supplies." He nodded smartly and left the room, obviously content that Malfoy had received the news without blasting anything or anyone to smithereens.

Draco looked up for the first time since receiving the letter. He was met with the accusing and cold stares of Hermione, Ron, and Harry.

'I think I'm going to be sick,' he thought.

As if in a trance, he silently walked out of the kitchen and up to his room.

XOX

The trio lurked outside of Malfoy's room. They were supposed to tell him that lunch was being served, but none of them wanted to knock on his door. It loomed before them like a totally impenetrable barrier that none of them even wanted to consider crossing.

"How do you think he's doing?" Hermione asked.

"Who cares?" said Ron. "The bastard deserves all he's going to get."

"The whole student body is going to be against him, Ron."

"None of the Slytherins, that's for sure."

"True," ceded Hermione, "but still. The rest of the school…the professors…He's going to have an awful year."

"You seem to have forgotten the hell he put _us_ through for six years, Hermione," said Harry. "He made us miserable. Now it's his turn." He glared at the door, still thinking. "And what do you care anyways? He was the worst to you!"

His implied accusation put Hermione on the defensive. "I don't care!" she said. "But I still have to live with him. He's going to make me miserable."

"Shh, keep your voice down!" hissed Harry.

"Then ignore him," suggested Ron, carrying on with their conversation.

"How can I ignore him when I'm supposed to be spying on him, Ron?" she asked in a barely audible tone.

"Don't ask me," he shot. "It's not my mission."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but decided not to pick a fight.

They all fell silent for a bit, staring at the door. "One of us has to get him," Hermione said finally.

Ron looked at her with his eyebrows raised. "Be my guest."

She huffed and stepped forward, tentatively knocking on the door. "Malfoy?" she said into the frame. No response. "Malfoy," she repeated. "lunch is on." He still refused to answer the door.

Hermione nodded sharply. "Okay, let's go." She started to make her way down the hall when she heard Harry's voice.

"But what about Malfoy?"

"Now look who's caring," Hermione shot back at him with a playful smile on her face.

Harry exchanged devilish looks with Ron. "You'll pay for that one, Hermione. Won't she, Ron?"

"Oh yes," Ron said with a playful grin.

Simultaneously, both boys ran at her, making Hermione laugh madly as she raced down the hall. Mrs. Black's portrait shrieked obscenely in response.

XOX

Draco heard their words from inside of his room. He was, after all, just on the other side of the door. He heard them talking about him, Harry and Ron with vindictiveness, Hermione with something akin to compassion. He was sickened with the Mudblood's pity, but knew that all she said was true.

Draco was genuinely afraid to return to Hogwarts. He knew that this year would be one of the hardest he would ever have to experience and he was not looking forward to it.

'The whole student body will loathe me,' he thought with his head in his hands. He had been thinking this thought for the past two hours in the same position: his back against the door, his knees to his chest, his head in his hands. 'I am the one responsible for Dumbledore's death. I let the Death Eaters in the school. I'm the one who made Hogwarts unsafe.' He wondered if as many students would be returning to the school.

A thought then occurred to Draco that had not before. 'Do people think I killed him?' The Ministry, having actually listened to Harry for once, had released an official statement declaring Snape the official murderer. But people still knew that Draco was up there. After all, he had come running out with Snape. 'Surely I've been implemented in his death. Guilty by association, right?'

Draco's heart sank deeper into his chest as he thought of how intense the students' hate would actually be.

'The professors, too,' he realized. 'The people I count on for grades.' Draco was a bright student and got the marks he deserved, but now there was a possibility that the professors would not be fair. He shuddered to think of the prejudice that he would experience in the classroom.

'At least I'll still have the Slytherins on my side. That is possibly the only up-side.' He gave a small smile as he imagined bossing around Crabbe and Goyle and at the sex he was bound to have with Pansy. His smile grew wider as he imagined Quidditch. 'Alright, two upsides,' he thought. 'They don't have any reason not to allow me on the team.' He closed his eyes in pleasure as he remembered the rush of seeing the Snitch, the weightlessness of a sudden turn, the speed of a sudden dive. He envisioned playing and actually beating Gryffindor for once when his thoughts were rudely interrupted by a knock on the door.

He heard Hermione say his name softly. He didn't feel like responding and hoped she would just go away. She said his name again and reminded him of lunch.

Still feeling slight nauseous at the prospect of being Head Boy, he ignored her. Finally taking the hint, she backed off. He flinched when he heard her shriek with laughter and winced at the sound of three sets of running footsteps thundering down the halls.

He sneered at their gaiety. "What have they to be happy about?" he mumbled to himself. "Their leader is dead, their savior is weak. They are going to lose the fight. They should be drowning in their sorrows, not rejoicing with each other."

Coldness gripped his heart and his eyes filled with frustrated tears. "They are all going to die in the most horrible ways, but they're still smiling, still happy, still embracing their lives. Stupid hope-filled juveniles."

Draco stood up now, angry at nothing. He began to pace the room.

"_I_ know what life is really like," he said out loud. "I've lived the reality of it, not the protected, safe version that they've been exposed to their whole lives! Life is full of mistakes and disappointments. It's full of letdowns and lies. Life is miserable and hopeless. Silly fools," he spat. "They have nothing to hope for, nothing to smile about, nothing to cling to…except each other."

He stopped pacing and looked at the ceiling with tear-filled eyes. He willed them not to spill, but the desire was weak. Tiny orbs of glass melted from his steel eyes and ran down his pale cheek.

'They have each other,' he thought. 'And who do I have?'

He knew the answer. With tears still running down his face, Draco braced himself at the window, looking out into the deep backyard.

'No one,' said the little demon in his mind. And Draco knew it was right.


	9. Ch 9: And So It Begins

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews so far, you guys! You all rock:D

And So It Begins

Draco did not speak to anyone the next day or the day after. Ever since the realization that he was, in all ways, alone, Draco became obsessed with something that he had never truly experienced: friendship. He carefully observed the dynamics of the Golden Trio, trying to map out why their friendship worked. More wickedly, he looked for the weak links.

Unfortunately, none occurred to him. Draco mulled bitterly over that fact and hated that his three worst enemies had something he never did. He glared jealously at them, who were dining together happily while he swept the kitchen floor.

Their roles were obvious and cliché. Ron was the "lovable goofball" of the group. He was defensive and fiercely loyal; a person anyone would be happy to call a friend. Harry was the unspoken head, mostly because of the burden hefted upon him since birth. He was a natural leader in this light and loved by both his subjects. Hermione was obviously the brains and the reason of the operation. She was the one they would come to with problems and always expect an answer. She was reliable and steady enough to ground the two impulsive men around her, which was quite a feat.

'The sultan, the court, and the jester,' Draco thought. He heard a loud clatter from the table and inconspicuously looked up. What he saw made his lips curl in disgust. Ron, who had been trying to catch pieces of food in his mouth, was lying on the floor, clutching his stomach and laughing breathlessly. Harry laughed right along with him and offered a hand to his toppled comrade. Hermione struggled to remain dignified, but Draco saw a small smile work its way onto her lips. He rolled his eyes at their immaturity.

Remus and Tonks then entered the kitchen and shot a questioning look at the red-faced teens. Draco stopped sweeping momentarily, knowing that his attention would go unnoticed.

"We're going to Diagon Alley today, you three," said Lupin. "So hurry up and get your cloaks and lists. We leave in 20 minutes." Remus turned to go out of the room when Tonks grabbed his arm. She whispered something into his ear and shot a quick look at Draco. Remus then looked at him as well, tempting a small blush onto Draco's defined cheeks. "Yes, you too, Mr. Malfoy. 20 minutes."

'Wonderful.' Draco threw his broom into a corner and moodily trudged up the stairs. He could not have been less excited to go to Diagon Alley. The chance of encountering other Hogwarts' students there was far too high for his liking; he wanted to avoid those reunions for as long as he possibly could. With a sigh, Draco grabbed his Gringotts key from inside his trunk and checked his appearance in the mirror. He ran his hands through his hair a few times, making it delightfully disheveled. Draco did not know who he was trying to impress by worrying about his appearance, but he was still a Malfoy. 'And a Malfoy must always look his best,' he thought haughtily. He practiced his sneer in front of the mirror and smiled at the sarcastic perfection.

He had just closed the door to his room when he heard Hermione yell from the bottom of the stairs. "Let's go, Malfoy!"

He rolled his eyes and walked down the stairs with infuriating nonchalance. Hermione was waiting for him at the bottom, her arms crossed in annoyance and her foot tapping impatiently.

"Here to escort me, Granger?"

"To make sure you hurried your ferret self down the stairs," she countered. "Let's go."

She walked before him into a room that was empty save for a rather large and dark stone chimney.

"You all know what to do," said Remus, holding out the bag of Floo Powder. They each took a pinch and were engulfed in green flames, speeding off through the Floo Network of London to their destination. After rolling out of their exit grate, Harry, Ron, and Hermione excitedly broke away from Tonks and Remus. Draco was left on his own with the mooning couple.

Deciding that they would not care if Draco went out on his own for a bit, he slipped away quickly. His first stop, as always, was Gringotts. His parents had set up a personal bank account for him since birth. From then on, they had regularly deposited funds in it whenever Draco requested.

'I'm not so sure that will still happen,' he thought. 'Perhaps my mother will be able to sneak in a few hundred galleons every so often, assuming she's still alive to do so...'

After withdrawing enough gold to get him through the day and the first few months of school, Draco set out along the street, going into only a few of the shops. He already had much of what he needed. 'And the less time I spend in the open, the better.'

Deciding it was better to be safe, Draco skulked into Knockturn Alley. He did not go into any of the stores, even though he was pretty sure that Mr. Borgin had seen him wandering the streets. 'I had enough of that fool last year,' Draco thought. Mr. Borgin had been excessively slow at repairing the vanishing cabinet, which did not exactly garner Draco's favor.

Draco wandered the alley for an hour or two. When he stepped back into the light, he immediately saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were happily chatting and clutching their purchases. Hermione lugged with her a cage, inside of which was a half-alert, half-dozing barn owl. Apparently, they had spent enough time in Diagon Alley as well and were ready to go.

Draco trailed behind them a bit. He looked on with something similar to jealousy when Ron said something that made Harry throw back his head in laughter. He saw Hermione playfully hit Ron's arm, who pretended like he was grievously wounded and pouted. Hermione then gave a small kiss to the injured area, making Ron smile once more. The group walked on, wonderfully oblivious to everything around them. Draco sneered at their backs, wishing painful deaths upon them all.

They reached the rendezvous point with Remus and Tonks. All of them Flooed back to Grimmauld Place to live out the rest of the week before school started.

XOX

BANG BANG BANG!

Draco launched up out of his bed at the loud intrusion upon his sleep, his first instinct being protection. He silently cast a protective shield around himself and looked wildly around the room for invaders, confused beyond all comprehension.

"Malfoy, we leave in 20 minutes!" Hermione screamed from outside his door. "Hurry up!"

Now _that_ Draco understood. All thoughts of sleep were erased from Draco's mind. '20 minutes?!' he thought in a panic. 'I haven't packed anything yet!' Not bothering to get dressed, Draco rushed about his room, gathering any clothes he could find. He shoved them in his trunk, knowing he would regret hastily placing them because of the wrinkles due to form. He nearly broke all his potions phials and the pages of his new books quickly became dog-eared, but Draco appeared downstairs in 15 minutes, semi-dressed and ready to go.

Instead of seeing a caravan of people on their way out the door, he saw only Harry, Ron, and Hermione, doubled-over in laughter.

It was then that Draco understood. 'I've been made a fool,' he thought angrily. Rage and humiliation took over him as he approached the group. They stopped twittering and looked on their guard. Hermione was standing at the forefront, a cocky smile on her face and absolute glee in her brown eyes.

"Whose idea was that?" Draco hissed. He was not surprised when Hermione answered.

"Mine. And it worked too. You got down here faster than anyone thought possible. Five minutes before you had to, in fact. Harry, I believe you owe Ron some money." She tried to say it with a straight face but failed miserably. Her laughter got Ron and Harry going again, who were nearly in tears.

Without thinking, Draco's hand darted out and grabbed a chunk of Hermione's curly hair. This elicited a gasp from the young witch, which went temporarily unnoticed by Ron and Harry. He dug the wand tip into her side, no doubt giving her a small, round bruise.

He brought her head close to his and turned it so that her ear was at his lips. In a low and menacing voice, he hissed, "I can hurt you, Granger…I can_kill_ you." He felt Hermione's breath quicken slightly, her chest moving rapidly against his own. "Maybe I will."

Before he could say more, Draco felt the two wand tips against his body. Harry's intense voice came from Draco's left. "Let. Her. Go."

He chuckled quietly into her ear, a seductively dangerous sound that made the hair on Hermione's neck stand on end. With a smirk on his voice, Draco whispered, "Don't forget who you're living with, Mudblood."

He released her hair with a jerk, sending her head backwards slightly. Hermione recovered and looked up at him with frightened chocolate eyes.

'I guess she needed a reminder,' Draco thought. 'Now to deal with these two fools.'

Ron and Harry still had their wands pointed directly at Draco; Harry's was at his head, Ron's was at his chest.

"Give me one reason not to blow you to shreds," fumed Ron, barely containing his rage. Deep red sparks were randomly shooting from the end of his wand, singeing the floor and the hem of Draco's clothes.

"Because I don't want to clean it up," came Moody's voice from the back of the room. "What's going on here?"

They all looked at each other, silently forming pacts of secrecy. This fight was theirs; they would be damned if an adult was to enter into the mix.

"Nothing," said Harry, lowering his wand. "Nothing's happening."

Moody's whirring blue eye focused on each of them in turn. Perhaps he knew that he was not going to be privy to what had just passed. "Fine then," he grumbled. "We're leaving for the King's Cross in an hour. Start to pack and get some breakfast." With that final order, Moody clunked out of the room.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco glared at each other for a moment longer. Menacing silence hung in the air, complete with a thick perfume of loathing.

Hermione spoke first. "Come on, Ron, Harry. Let's go get packed." She lightly touched their arms, breaking them out of their hateful stares. They reluctantly turned from Draco and headed towards the kitchen. Draco stood still as he watched them leave, smirking all the while.

The journey to King's Cross was awkward, to say the least. The cars, though magically charmed to expand, were still a little crowded. Hermione was safely wedged between Harry and Ron, who Draco was seated next to. He once again edged nearer to the door as Ron spread out his long legs, taking up more room than he needed.

'The wanker is doing this on purpose,' Draco thought as he sneered at the London traffic through the window. He saw King's Cross station come into view and immediately tensed. His breathing increased slightly and he started to sweat; for the first time in a long while, Draco was incredibly nervous.

With the car parked, the group tromped into the station. Their destination: Platform 9 ¾. Draco looked at the foreboding brick wall, which seemed more solid and impenetrable than it did his first time here. He hoped, foolishly perhaps, that the barrier would not let him pass. But to his disappointment, he slid through the brick as if it didn't exist at all. 'Damn it,' Draco thought. 'There's no going back now.'

He took a deep breath and stepped out into the hustle and bustle of the platform. Everywhere he turned, he saw his classmates and their parents. Suddenly, he felt as though he had transported back in time seven years.

Draco remembered each one of his trips to Hogwarts – the excitement of it! How nervous he was getting onto the train that first time, but then how his confidence was boosted when he found his easily manipulated goons, Crabbe and Goyle. He had found his niche and he was loathe to leave the power it gave him even for a moment. Hogwarts had been his kingdom for six years. It was now to be his prison.

He was brought from his daydream by the gasp of someone near to him. He turned his head and saw a girl with straight brown hair staring at him in wide-eyed shock. She whispered something to her friend, who also turned to look. She gasped as well, covering her mouth in surprise. She then nudged her friend, who alerted his friend to the news, who in turn told two other people.

The news of his return spread like a vicious storm, picking up speed and strength as it barreled on. He sped up, working his way towards the front of the train to find the usual Slytherin compartment. In his wake, Draco left a trail of silenced students who whispered confidentially behind their hands but made no effort to hide their shocked stares. Draco rolled his eyes and set his mouth, determined to ignore them.

It was going to be a long year.


	10. Ch 10: Arrival

Arrival

Leaving a mob of stunned and silent students in his wake, Draco finally found a familiar face.

"Crabbe!" The large boy jumped a mile at Draco's authoritative bark. "Where's Goyle?"

A blank look crossed his face. Apparently, he was thinking. Draco lost patience before Crabbe could come up with a response.

"Well find him, you dolt!" Draco ordered. "We need to get a compartment."

"Blaise already got one. Near the front of the train, behind the Head's compartment."

Draco froze, holding Crabbe's unintelligent and intimidated gaze in his own steely one. 'Right behind the Head's compartment…That's all I need…Granger to blow it before I can tell them myself…'

"Find Goyle and Pansy. Be in the compartment in five minutes." Crabbe nodded, but still did not move. "_Now_, you fool!" Draco commanded. At that, Crabbe jumped again and hurried off to the food stand.

Draco shook his head. 'The company I keep...'

He stepped into the compartment and, true to Crabbe's word, was Blaise Zabini. The tall black boy was lounging one of the seats reading a book on Dark Magic. He was wearing tight leather pants and an open silk shirt the same light blue as his eyes. Draco quirked a blonde eyebrow: Blaise always did have _eccentric_ tastes. Draco supposed he got it from his mother. He cleared his throat as he stood in the compartment door. "Nice pants, Zabini."

Cold, blue eyes came up from the book and regarded Draco. "Wish I could say the same to you, Malfoy," he responded coolly. Draco's lips twitched into a smile, as did Blasie's. Both boys simultaneously broke out into elegant laughter. Blaise rose gracefully from the chair and greeted Draco.

"I wasn't expecting to see you this year, Draco."

"I wasn't expecting to come."

"I trust your summer was good?"

Draco's smile faltered a bit. "I have a few developments to tell you all. I want to wait until the train gets moving, though. We'll have less of a chance of being overheard," he said in a conspiratorial hush.

Blaise nodded seriously and offered Draco a seat, which he gladly took. They chatted casually of Blaise's summer in France until Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy walked in.

"Draco," purred Pansy, immediately going over to him. His face remained impassive as she straddled his lap, skirt riding high up her thigh, and snaked her arms around his neck. "Did you miss me over the summer?" she whispered into his ear. Draco knew she was trying to be seductive, to get a rise out of him, so to speak. It had never worked before. It was not going to work now.

"Get off me, Pansy. I have something important to tell you all."

Her green eyes hardened and gave him an affronted look. Without a word, she slid off his lap and into the seat beside him. Despite his frigidity towards her, she still eyed him hungrily. Draco ignored her gaze as the train lurched forward.

After a few minutes of small talk, Draco said, "I received some very interesting news over the summer and I want to know what you all think of it." The compartment became silent as Draco continued. "McGonagall has made me Head Boy this year."

Draco amused himself by watching the reactions of his posse. Blaise remained silent, but got a far-away look in his eyes, going deep into thought. Pansy gasped and looked torn between congratulating Draco and being horrified that he would no longer be living in the Slytherin dormitory. Crabbe and Goyle still looked clueless.

"But why?" asked Blaise, the first to speak in over a minute. "There's no reason for her to do that, especially after last year. Why did you decide to come back anyways?"

Draco quickly fabricated an excuse. "It would have been a sign of weakness had I not returned."

Draco was afraid that he would see through his pathetic lie. There was no way he could tell them that he had been living with the Order of the Phoenix for the summer, that he had left the grandeur of Malfoy Manor in exchange for the near poverty of Grimmauld Place. Blaise looked unbelieving for an instant, but nodded slowly in acceptance. Draco almost sighed in relief.

"As for why I'm Head Boy, I have no idea. It doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't," agreed Blaise.

"Who is Head Girl?" asked Pansy.

"I am," answered a voice from the doorway. Hermione was standing there, looking quite annoyed. "And _you_ were supposed to be in the Head's compartment ten minutes ago, Malfoy. We have to go over protocol. McGonagall won't thank you for making her wait. Neither will I." She finished off her tirade with an irritated look.

Draco glared at Hermione for interrupting their talk without knocking. "I'll be there in a second," he grumbled. He waited until she was out of range before talking again.

"Granger," he spat.

"No real surprise there," admitted Blaise.

Pansy was horrified. "You're going to have to share a dormitory with that?" She made a face of disgust. "Thank Merlin dirty blood isn't contagious." Draco did not bother to even sneer.

"At least you'll have more power now," said Blaise.

Draco laughed sharply. "Ha! Under McGonagall's and Granger's eyes? Yeah right. I won't be able to get away with anything."

"Maybe that's the reason!" Blaise realized. "They want to keep an eye on you and the best way to do that is to give you a position of power."

Draco's eyes lit up. "You're right. That's the only explanation for it. They want to watch me, to make sure that I don't do anything else."

"We'll find a way to get around them," Blaise said in a conciliatory voice. "Don't worry. So what's the plan this year?"

Draco gave a guilty grin. He was about to tell them that there was no plan when Hermione appeared at the door again.

"Malfoy," she said in a stern voice. "_Now_."

Her bossy tone earned glares from the entire compartment. Any lesser student would have quivered under the intensity. But Hermione simply ignored them and continued staring pointedly at Draco.

"Fine," he said and rose to follow her.

"Ha, already whipped," he heard Blaise whisper under his breath. Draco turned around and shot daggers at the grinning boy.

"Watch yourself, Zabini," he warned in a half-joking, half serious tone.

XOX

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Malfoy," said Professor McGonagall. Her voice was laced with poorly concealed annoyance. Draco regarded her with steady arrogance. The tone of his look was not lost upon the wizened professor.

"Mr. Malfoy," she warned dangerously. Her face darkened and her mouth thinned as she continued. "You are going to be walking a fine line this year. Any arrogance or _mishaps_ on your part will result in the severest of consequences. Trust me, young man, I am not to be meddled with."

A terse silence followed as the two continued to have a stare down. Draco, sensing that the old woman would not break anytime soon, looked down first. McGonagall straightened and smoothed her robes. She took a deep breath and launched into her monologue, which had most likely been given to every Head since she started.

"First, congratulations to both of you for becoming the school Heads. You were chosen for academic prowess, fine attitude towards education, and your outstanding relations with your peers." Draco held back a smile: he didn't exemplify one of those qualities and yet, here he was. To him, it only worked to confirm Blaise's suspicion. "You are role models for the entire school," she continued (Draco nearly laughed out loud), "and I expect you to conduct yourselves as such."

This is where he was sure she veered from her practiced discourse.

"Along the vein of conduct, I am well aware of the relationship between you both. I expect you to overcome your differences and act civilly towards each other. I don't want to hear of any fights or disturbances. Anything serious could very well result in both of you losing your station."

Hermione gasped. "Professor, don't you think that's a little extreme?"

"Ms. Granger, the way you and Mr. Malfoy fight is extreme. The punishment will fit the crime. Am I understood?"

"But…"

"_Am I understood_?"

Hermione's face fell and she looked submissively to the floor. "Yes, Professor."

"Good. Now I'll ask each of you to take a seat while I explain the rest of your duties."

For the rest of the train ride, Hermione and Draco sat on opposite ends of the plush red seat, one listening intently to her instructions, the other staring off into the distance, contemplating what the future could hold.

XOX

Sooner than she expected, Hermione mounted the thestral-driven carriage after Neville and Ron, heading off to Hogwarts for her last year. Not surprisingly, she was less-than-enthusiastic, as were her friends.

"I can't believe she kept you for the whole train ride," grumbled Ron. "And with that prat, no less."

"Yeah, that's terrible, Hermione. You hate each other! How're you going to get through it?" questioned Neville.

Hermione sighed and looked out of the window as the carriage jerked to life. "I don't know, Neville."

He shook his head in wonder. "Good luck to you, anyways."

"Thanks," Hermione said grimly. The excitement of being Head Girl diminished when McGonagall said that she could possibly get kicked out of her position just for fighting with Malfoy.

'And fighting with him is inevitable,' she thought. 'I'll just have to make some sort of arrangement. I refuse to lose the honor of being Head Girl just because of that arrogant git.' Then, a new thought popped into Hermione's head, something that changed her attitude completely. 'Wait, what if McGonagall's warning is just an empty threat? She's part of the Order! She must know about my mission!'

Having successfully figured out McGonagall's ruse, Hermione was able to genuinely smile as she sat down to the feast. She had no problem making jovial conversation with the friends she missed over the summer and enjoyed her first meal at Hogwarts immensely.

Warm and full from dinner, Hermione made her way to the Head's dormitory. The route was longer than normal, twisting, turning, and doubling back upon itself before depositing the wanderer at her destination. She came upon a grand portrait in a gold-gilded frame, inside of which resided one the Four Founders of Hogwarts: Rowena Ravenclaw. Hermione gaped up at her, wondering why their portrait was tucked back into the school, not proudly displayed up front.

"For reasons that you will discover this year, my dear," said Rowena Ravenclaw from the portrait. "This being one of them."

Hermione gasped in surprise. "You knew what I was thinking?"

She replied simply. "Yes."

"But how?"

Rowena smiled mysteriously. "I take it that you are the new Head Girl?" she asked, gracefully avoiding the subject.

"Yes. My name is Hermione Granger."

Rowena dipped her head. "Charmed, Ms. Granger. You can call me Rowena. I assume Headmistress McGonagall did not tell you the password?"

"Actually, no," Hermione realized. "She did not."

"Good. That is because there is no password."

Hermione looked up at the portrait strangely. "No password? Then how are we to enter the dormitory?"

"Ah," Rowena said. "Here comes your counterpart."

Hermione turned around and saw Draco walking towards her. His head was down and his face was entirely impassive. Overall, he looked none too pleased with having to sleep away from the Slytherin dormitory.

"Forgot the password, Granger?" Malfoy asked snidely. "Go figure."

"Do you remember it?" Hermione retorted.

"Of course! It's…" Draco's face went blank for a moment as he searched his memory for the answer.

"That's what I thought. Rowena was just about to tell us how we can enter."

"Rowena?" For the first time he looked at the portrait. "Oh."

Rowena chuckled softly. "When we guard the entrance, we will present you with a riddle. Solve it, and you may enter. If you do not, one of us will leave. You will have to wait until another returns before another riddle is presented."

Before Hermione could even ask the question, Rowena responded. "You were chosen as the school Heads because you are the cleverest in your year. Riddles are a way to prove your intellectual dexterity to me and to yourself on a daily basis. I have complete confidence in you both."

"Alright, so what's the riddle?" Draco asked impatiently.

Unruffled by his brusque attitude, Rowena smiled and presented them with the puzzle. "What does man love more than life and fear more than death or mortal strife? What do the poor have and the rich require and what do contented men desire? What do misers spend and spendthrifts save and all men carry to their grave?"

Hermione stared at Draco. He looked just as clueless as she felt. Having a feeling that he was not going to be of much help to her, Hermione set to pacing the area outside of the portrait.

"We have to think," she mumbled quietly. "What do men love more than life and fear more than death? Dementors? No, no one loves Dementors. Next clue. The poor have it, the rich require it and the content man doesn't want it. The poor…well, the poor don't have anything. And what do the rich need? Do they need anything? A content man should be happy with what he has. Nothing? Does it fit? Misers…spendthrifts…dead men…" She turned to Draco. "Is it nothing?" He shrugged unhelpfully. "Fine then. Is it nothing, Rowena?"

The woman in the portrait smiled kindly, her eyes alight with happiness. "You would have done very well in my House, Ms. Granger." The portrait slowly swung open and Hermione let loose the breath that she had been holding. She thanked Rowena and was making her way to the portrait when she was rudely shoved out of the way by Draco. She scowled at him and swore that she heard Rowena laugh softly. Rolling her eyes, she followed Draco into her new home for the year.


	11. Ch 11: Situating

Situating

Hermione looked around the common room. Both Slytherin and Gryffindor colors were incorporated into the furnishings. The walls were deep burgundy and the couches black leather. Everything looked new. But as Hermione discovered when she sat down on the plush leather couch, it felt as if the furniture had been in use for years, perfectly broken in and devilishly comfortable. Snuggling further down into the cushions, she stared into the fire burning steadily in the grate across the room. She shut her eyes and inhaled the wonderful and natural scents of leather and burning wood and the invigorating smell of antiquity that was supremely _Hogwarts_. She sighed deeply in contentment.

'I love it here.'

She jumped slightly as coarse fur brushed across her arm. "Crookshanks," she cooed, scooping the orange cat into her arms. He closed his eyes in pleasure as Hermione absentmindedly stroked him.

'This won't be so bad,' she thought. 'Malfoy went straight to his room. Maybe he won't bother me at all this year. That would make my spying a bit more difficult than anticipated, but if it saves me from having to deal with him…' Her face unconsciously wrinkled into an expression of disgust at the mere thought of him. 'Stupid boy.'

A grandfather clock she had failed to notice on her way in chimed eleven heavy strokes. As if on cue, Hermione yawned, feeling extraordinarily tired.

"Time for bed, Crookshanks." She eased the cat off her lap and mounted the wooden stairs to the dormitories. She looked left, then right. The doors were identical.

She looked down at her cat, wondering if he would supply her with an answer as to which door was hers. Instead, he spared her one glance with his great yellow eyes and proceeded to groom himself.

"Well_you're_ helpful," Hermione admonished him with a teasing smile. "Fine, looks like I'm deciding the old-fashioned way: guessing." She looked at each door once more, and, deciding that there was no way logic would help her choose, shrugged. "The right door it is."

She knocked and pressed her ear to the door, just to be sure. She could only imagine walking in on Draco in the shower…She shuddered at the thought. But hearing no response, she turned the handle and entered her room for the year.

It was like walking into a fairy tale. Hermione's ideal room was set up before her – everything she could ever want, it seemed, was at her fingertips. A huge four-post bed with a crimson and gold comforter sat as the centerpiece. Wonderfully rich cherry wood accented the crimson of the bed sheets. The effect would have been completely overwhelming had it not been for the light cream color of the walls and the double-wide picture windows, giving her an amazing view of the Forbidden Forest from her stone balcony.

The bathroom was just as exquisite: cream utilities all accented with gold. What would usually look tacky instead looked wonderful. Delicate art in ornate frames hung on the walls, not portraits, but landscapes of far-away places. The shower-bath was big enough for at least three people and was complete with ten different taps and, Hermione noticed with a smile, what seemed to be Muggle Jacuzzi settings. She shook her head in wonder: Hogwarts got better every year.

After playing with the taps and the massage settings, Hermione settled into her bath and nearly fell asleep. The water was so warm and relaxing…if not for the chiming of the grandfather clock at midnight, Hermione very well could have spent all night immersed in the water. Reluctantly, she pulled herself out and toweled off, more than content to snuggle into the crimson sheets of her devilishly comfortable bed.

'This is going to be a good year,' she thought. 'Different, but good.' She drifted of to sleep quickly, a smile gracing her face.

Her alarm clock buzzed bright and early the next day. The soft morning sun filtered through the partly opened cream curtains and struck her eyes. She groaned and lazily swung her arm over her head. Relying solely on touch, Hermione fumbled with the alarm clock, desperately looking for the snooze button.

Her clumsy fingers finally pressed the right button and Hermione was allowed seven more minutes of blissful sleep. It buzzed again – her fingers found the button quicker this time. Seven more minutes, another press of the button.

Hermione lost count of just how many times her arm snaked out from underneath the blankets to push the ever-so-addicting snooze button, but by the time she was ready to get up, the time was already 8:30.

The time did not register in her mind for a full minute. '8:31...' Her brown eyes suddenly turned from sleepy to panicked. '8:31! I have class in fourteen minutes!' Letting out a yelp, she literally launched herself out of bed and began to change.

"Thank Merlin for uniforms," Hermione mumbled as she threw on her skirt, shirt, and tie. A hair tie, some well placed clips, and a dash of mascara later, Hermione was on her way out the door. Her morning ritual took five minutes – a new record.

'I have ten minutes to travel a fifteen minute walk from here to the dungeons,' she thought as she stepped through the portrait hole. 'This is impossible.' The figure in the painting must have caught her thoughts because it spoke right as she started to hurry off down the hall.

"Not so," the man in the portrait suggested. "There is a shortcut. It is just through that wall, straight down the passageway, then make a right. It will lead you to the Potions room. Just be careful not to be seen."

"Thank you, sir. I'm sorry I cannot stay to talk."

"I shall be here later today. Until then, Miss."

Flashing a hasty smile at the portrait, Hermione walked through the wall and followed the portrait's instructions. True to his word, the path led almost directly to the Potions dungeon. She still had three minutes until class started.

'I'll have to remember to thank him more extensively later. And to ask him if there are any other passageways through the school that I might use.'

Straightening her robe and taking a deep, calming breath, Hermione walked into the classroom like nothing was amiss. Two heads turned to notice her entrance. Both regarded her with surprise, Ron with a smile, Draco with a sneer. She smiled at Ron and took a seat next to him, explaining her tardiness before he could even ask.

XOX

'How the hell could she have gotten here so fast?' Draco wondered when Hermione stepped through the door. 'I just barely arrived and I left fifteen minutes early!' Sparks shot from the end of his wand in annoyance. 'She knows something else that I don't…Splendid.'

The fact that Hermione was on time for class just put Draco in a fouler mood. Not only had he also woken up later than he intended and therefore missed breakfast, but he was stared at the whole way to the classroom. Students he had never even seen before now took a perverse interest in him, either falling abnormally quiet or breaking out into loud whispers when he passed.

Normally, Draco would have enjoyed the attention, and perhaps even have taken advantage of it. But not anymore. Now he tried to ignore their accusing stares and their not-so-subtle pointed fingers, but he saw them everywhere. Draco saw the fear held within the eyes of some, the hate and contempt held in the gazes of others.

'It's not those that fear me that I have to worry about...' he thought. 'It's those that hate me that will cause trouble. Something will happen that sets the whole school against me soon, I bet. Only a matter of time...'

He sighed and took down the potions ingredients and instructions that were set upon the board by Slughorn. He sent Blaise to gather the ingredients while the started the fire. While he was waiting, he snuck a glance at Hermione, who was sitting to his right. She was concentrating on the fire, but must have felt his gaze, for she looked up a moment after he turned his attention towards her.

XOX

Hermione felt Draco's skin-prickling eyes upon her face. She turned her head to regard him steadily. He narrowed his eyes at her, not in usual hatred but in rarely-seen confusion.

'He's wondering how I got here so quickly,' she thought with certainty. She smiled smugly and chuckled a bit. Her haughty look turned into a satisfied smirk as she saw Draco redden and turn back to tending his fire, which had started omitting plumes of black smoke for some reason.

'Perhaps the portrait doesn't like him as much,' she reasoned. 'Understandable, of course, but I didn't think they were supposed to take sides. Ha, oh well. Nothing more than he deserves.'

She shrugged off the thought and started to carefully chop the ingredients that Ron had brought back to their workspace.

Despite the rocky start to her morning, Hermione really enjoyed the rest of her day. Her N.E.W.T. level Transfigurations class was beginning the process of becoming Animagi, Professor McGonagall's goal for the year. Their first assignment was to do research on what type of animal into which they wanted to transfigure. So Ron was not at all surprised when Hermione bolted down her food and headed to the library.

She traveled the familiar corridors without even thinking; she had been to the library so often that the route was second nature – she could have walked it in her sleep.

'What should it be?' Hermione asked herself. 'What kind of animal would be perfect for me?' She thought of her Patronus. 'I do like the otter. I think it is the perfect representation of me: clever and intelligent, but still playful. Not to mention cute!' She laughed to herself and shook her head at her silent vanity.

Hermione failed to see the woman that she had blossomed into over the past two years. Her hair had finally settled down into soft brown ringlets that were easily managed the majority of the time. She had lost her bookish air in favor of a quiet, dignified intelligence mingled with the adventurous spirit of a teenager.

Her body had matured as well. Hermione had slender, shapely legs and a fit figure. Her face was naturally pretty; not needing to be enhanced by any make-up or charms of which the Lavender Brown types were more than fond. More alluring than her body was the confidence with which she carried it. She held her head up when she walked and smiled often despite the burdens of the upcoming war. Hermione was the paragon of what a teenage witch should be, and everyone saw it but her.

She reached the library and nodded to Madame Pince, with whom she had an understandably friendly relation. Browsing through the massive and ancient tomes upon the high shelves, Hermione selected several books about Animagi and magical animals in general.

She lugged the books back to her room, again winding through the corridors. Perspiration shone on her forehead as her traversed the castle. "Why did they put the Heads so far away from everything?" Hermione grumbled quietly. "This is ridiculous. There must be more than one passage leading from my dormitory to the classrooms."

"Right you are, Ms. Granger," came a voice from the wall. Hermione, not even realizing that she had reached her room, jumped and dropped her books in surprise. The portrait chuckled quietly. "I apologize."

"Oh, it's quite alright," said Hermione while bending over to pick up her books. Hefting them into her arms, she was able to get a proper look at the picture with whom she was conversing.

He was a noble-looking man with dirty-blonde hair and bushy eyebrows of the same color. His eyes were soft and golden, flecked with brown. His face was pleasantly weathered, with laugh lines around the corners of his lips and eyes. He smiled royally down at Hermione as he responded to her thoughts. "Yes, Ms. Granger. My name is Godric Gryffindor. I'm honored to meet you. And may I just take this opportunity to say how very proud I am to have you in my House."

"Thank you, sir," said Hermione with a flattered smile. "And thank you as well for guiding me down that passage this morning. I never would have made it to class on time without knowing it. But I have to ask, are there any more passages that I can use to get to class? It's quite a long walk…"

"Yes, Ms. Granger, there are. But I would rather not tell them to you." Hermione's face fell a bit at Godric's words. "Instead, I would rather you find them out yourself, preferably with your counterpart, the Head Boy. That way, the both of you may know what passageways lead to where and simultaneously enjoy an adventure through a part of Hogwarts few have seen."

"And what if we don't want this adventure?" came a drawling voice from behind Hermione. Draco seemed to materialize at her side in an instant.

"Mr. Malfoy," Godric addressed him in slightly chilled tones. "Yes, Salazar was quite proud when you entered his House: the Malfoy line back in his presence once more. I dare say that you have so far exhibited every one of the characteristics my schoolmate prized in a student, some of which are less-than-exemplary." Draco drew himself up proudly despite Godric's remark, who tried to suppress a glower. "How fortunate for you to be paired with Ms. Granger. Perhaps she will…broaden your horizons." He smiled politely, ignoring Draco's sneer.

Hermione sensed that Draco was about to say something in retaliation, and that it was not going to be in a civil tongue. She cut in just before he started to speak. "We will explore the back passageways as soon as we have time. But if you don't mind, these books are quite weighty."

"Oh yes, of course. This is my riddle: God never sees this, a king seldom does. Seen by men daily, but oft unrecognized. What is it?"

Hermione smiled. "I've heard this one before. Do you know the answer,_Malfoy_?" She looked at him pointedly. He regarded her with a cold and haughty stare, as if he were above such puzzles. After a few seconds of silence, it was obvious that Draco was not going to answer.

"_An equal_," she said with a keen look.

Hermione swore she saw Draco's countenance falter slightly. She thanked Godric and lightly stepped into the common room, Draco following after her.


	12. Ch 12: The Wolf

The Wolf 

After Hermione had answered Godric's riddle, Draco entered his room and flopped down on his bed, already exhausted. 'Today was…tolerable,' he thought, 'although certainly not good by any standards.' Throughout the morning, the entire student body constantly whispered and pointed and averted their eyes whenever he approached. He was as much of a celebrity as Harry Potter ever was, but known for his infamy instead of his virtues. He sighed. 'At least I have my House behind me…for now.'

He remembered his short lunch with the Slytherins and frowned in consternation. Disturbing signs were cropping up, signs hinting that Draco's authority was not so concrete as before…

"This is ridiculous," he groaned as he swung his bag down at the Slytherin table for lunch.

"I know! How do they expect us to write a foot and a half of parchment in two days?" whined Pansy.

Draco sneered at her stupidity. Blaise saved him the task of insulting her.

"Not that, you twat. If you could pull your eyes away from yourself for a moment you would have noticed what has been happening all day!"

Pansy looked shocked. "What's been going on?"

Draco rolled his eyes and gestured for Blaise to continue.

"Everyone has been entirely focused on Malfoy for the majority of the day, you nitwit. You haven't noticed anything?"

"No," she gasped. "Why would they pay attention to you, Draco?" Her green eyes were wide and empty.

He had to restrain himself from screaming. Instead, he spoke with utmost repugnance. "Does nothing penetrate your thick skull, Parkinson? Do you remember anything of what happened last year? The Death Eaters in the school? The death of that fool, Dumbledore? My involvement?"

Realization dawned on Pansy's face. "Oh yes. Now I remember! But why would they still care?"

"Because I was there!" he hissed. "And a whole student body doesn't exactly forget the murder of their Headmaster within three months, nor the people involved in it!"

Pansy was silenced into thought, or something resembling it, as Draco suspected she was incapable of such a rudimentary function. He turned to Blaise and rolled his eyes.

"So, what's the plan this year, Malfoy?" he asked when reaching for a drumstick.

Draco had been dreading this question ever since the train. The piece of chicken in his mouth seemed to turn to cotton as he tried to think of a response.

Of course, telling the truth was out of the question. After the increased security measures McGonagall was actively taking, the Slytherins' expectations for his plan were even higher. To let them down would not be a good idea. 'But any explanation I give them will incite their suspicion, if not their anger. Damned if I do, damned if I don't,' he realized.

Blaise looked at him with interest. Even Crabbe and Goyle had stopped stuffing their faces long enough to hear what Draco was going to say. He swallowed audibly and dropped the drumstick to his plate. He purposefully wiped his fingers on his napkin, intending to procrastinate for as long as possible.

"Well, this year…" Draco trailed off and looked into Blaise's expectant and glinting blue eyes. A moment's hesitation; his decision was made. "This year is going to be good." Draco saw a rarely seen smile appear on Blaise's face, as well as the vacant faces of Crabbe and Goyle. He looked down, not ashamed of the lie, but immediately regretting it.

"Well?" Blaise prompted. "What is it going to be?"

"I haven't worked it all out yet," Draco covered. He held Blaise's gaze, but fiddled nervously with his napkin. "As soon as I do, I'll let you all know."

"How long will it be?"

"Uh, a few weeks, probably."

"Can you at least give us a hint? Who does it involve? Are the orders from the Dark Lord himself?"

"I can't say anything more, Zabini. I told you, when I know, you'll know. So drop it."

"Yeah, but..."

"I said drop it!" Draco barked authoritatively. His steel eyes flashed with annoyance. A quick flare of emotion shot through Blaise's entire frame: Draco saw him tense. It only lasted for a moment, though, before Blaise looked resigned and mumbled a quick "Okay" before taking a bite of green beans.

Draco sighed as he took out his Potions book. 'I can't believe I set myself a deadline. I have to either devise a plan that will satisfy them or come clean. How could I have been so foolish?' He silently berated himself for a few more minutes, getting angrier and angrier as time passed.

'What happened at the portrait entrance certainly didn't help...' he seethed. 'Stupid Mudblood, showing me up in front of the stupid painting. And I got his hint. That riddle was aimed at me! _An equal_. Bah. She's not my equal and she never will be. Blood is immutable. Although that won't stop _her _from thinking she's all high-and-mighty...'

Draco remembered their conversation as they stepped inside the portrait hole and nearly broke his quill.

Draco wearily stepped through the portrait and was planning on going straight to his room but found that he could take no more than a few steps forward. There was Hermione, her arms crossed over her chest, looking very annoyed.

"Now what?"

"You know what, Malfoy. Your attitude towards Godric. You were really rude."

Draco raised one blonde eyebrow. "It's a portrait, Granger. It doesn't matter."

She scoffed. "Doesn't matter…The portrait controls whether or not we get into our room. If you decide to irritate one of them, they _all_ may just leave us stranded in the hallway for the entire night!"

"Don't be dim, Granger. McGonagall would never allow mere portraits to act like that," he said confidently.

"For some reason, Malfoy, I think she would. Unless you haven't noticed, this is no 'mere' portrait. It's a portrait of the _Founders_ of Hogwarts, not one of the Fat Lady or Sir Cadogan. And it's enchanted more than the other ones hanging about. I have a feeling that the characters in this painting have more authority than you give them credit for."

"Whatever, Granger. I don't need to listen to your bullshit lectures right now." He shoved past her, knocking into her shoulder. He ignored her indignant huff and tromped up the stairs to his room.

'She scolded me!' he thought, indignation just now hitting him. 'The nerve! As if she were my mother...' There, Draco's thoughts then turned on a dime. 'My mother…' He missed her terribly. His thoughts sank deeper and deeper into black when Draco came to his senses for a moment. 'I can't do this,' he thought. 'I can't allow myself to mourn someone that may not even be dead.'

He shook loose all despondent thoughts and turned to his Potions book. He had three rolls of parchment to write, not to mention his Transfigurations research that was due in two days.

After a three long hours of work, Draco raised his quill from the parchment and looked over the roll and a half he had written.

'It's not the best,' he thought, running his ink-stained fingers across his chin, 'but it will do for now. I'll write the rest after dinner, then perhaps do my Transfigurations in the common room.'

He lifted his head, hearing the joints in his neck crack. He stretched his back and arms, feeling the tension that had knotted in them melt away. He lazily made his way out of his room and down to dinner, encountering neither Hermione nor a portrait figure on his way.

Content that he did not have to put up with the whining of either, Draco made his way down to the Great Hall and took his usual place at the Slytherin table. Crabbe and Goyle were already wedged in their seats and looked as if they had been eating for twenty minutes already. Draco knew that they would not show any sign of slowing by the time he finished his meal.

He ate in relative silence and headed back up to his dorm after he finished dinner. True to his belief, Crabbe and Goyle were still stuffing their faces.

Reaching the portrait, he was dismayed to find that no one inhabited it at the moment. He looked left and right at the other portraits, to see if they were visiting, but alas, he saw nothing.

'This is bollocks. I'm not about to wait out here until one of these batty portrait characters decides to show up. What am I supposed to do until then?' He mulled on this question for a moment. 'I don't recall seeing Granger at dinner. Maybe she's still in there.'

Malfoy started to bang on the portrait. "Granger!" he yelled. "Granger! Open the portrait. The Founders have run off. Granger? Granger!" He yelled louder and knocked more insistently.

'This is useless,' he thought and sunk down onto the floor against the portrait. Suddenly, he felt a harsh knock to the back of his head.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, rubbing his head.

"Hello?" came Hermione's tentative voice from inside the portrait hole. "Who's there?"

"Who do you think?" said Draco, rising up off the floor. Hermione visibly relaxed at the sight of him, which he thought was very odd. Storing his suspicion in the back of his mind, Draco asked, "What took you so long?"

"I didn't know what I was hearing. I thought I was going mental, hearing knocks and my name…"

"_Going_ mental?" muttered Draco, stepping past Hermione and into the common room. Up the stairs he traveled to grab his Transfiguration text, then down again to procure a comfortable spot on the couch where he could read.

Unfortunately for Draco, his plans were somewhat hindered by the fact that Hermione had taken control of the entire couch and the table in front of it. 'Perfect,' he thought. 'Just dandy.'

Making his displeasure obvious, Draco went to the chair nearest to the fire and had to be satisfied with using a small end table. He sighed with malcontent, no question earning a look from Hermione, and dove into his book, trying to pin his perfect Animagus.

Two hours passed.

"I have no idea what animal I want to transform into," said Hermione randomly. Draco's eyes had passed over the same lines at least twenty times without taking them in, rendering his mind totally useless and frustrating him to no end. He looked up, unsure if Hermione was addressing him or not. She was vacantly staring off into the flames, paying little attention to anything else around her. He went back to his book.

"There are just so many choices! They all seem good." Draco looked up again, but Hermione was still not looking at him for a response. A minute after he went back to reading, Hermione spoke again.

"Do you have any ideas yet?"

Thoroughly annoyed at being interrupted so many times, Draco snapped, "No, Granger, I haven't. And I don't know how you expect me to come up with one with your incessant prattle going on in the background!" He glared at her long enough to see her upset expression and went back to his book with a quick jerk of his head.

He read not a word when she spoke again. "I was just wondering," she said. "Merlin, calm down."

"I am calm, Granger," he said in a high-anxiety voice. She regarded him with a stare that seemed to say, "Yeah, right."

"Did it ever occur to you that I might be having the same problem?" he snapped.

"Well, what are your options?" she asked.

Draco looked at the clock and decided he was far too tired to make a sarcastic remark. Instead, he rubbed his forehead and answered her wearily. "I don't even know. I was thinking about my Patronus – a dragon, obviously – but that's too inconvenient, too conspicuous. It needs to be something that's seen every day."

"Did you have a type in mind, like mammal or reptile or bird or…?"

"Mammal, for sure."

"What about size?"

"Medium to large."

"Do you want to be able to blend in or do you want to stand out?"

"I mostly want to stand out. I want to be a fierce mammal, something predatory, with claws and sharp teeth."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Boys…" she muttered. Draco shot her a look. "What about some type of cat?"

"Cat? Ew, no way."

"Fine. What about a dog?"

"A dog? That's even worse! You have horrible ideas, Granger."

"A dog doesn't mean a pet, Malfoy. You could be a wolf or something."

Draco's attention, which had been wandering towards his book again, was caught. "A wolf, you say?"

"Yes, a wolf. There are several different species," she said. "Here, this book names quite a few." She moved over on the couch, and Draco took a seat next to her. She handed him the book. He flipped through it, half-listening while she talked. "The coyote is one of the smaller ones and there's the red wolf, but the timber wolf, or the grey wolf, is the neatest one."

"What makes it so unique?" Draco questioned, taking his eyes from the book to Hermione's face, which was filled with something akin to admiration.

"The grey wolf is the biggest of the wolf family, and the most dangerous. They usually live quite contently in packs, but every once in a while a wolf becomes an outcast. It lives fine on its own as well as socially, making it extremely adaptable."

'Hm, a wolf...' Draco thought. He studied the picture of the timber wolf, which was prowling around a half-frozen stream looking for food. He watched the beast stir up a rabbit, which it pounced on almost immediately. Draco saw its muscles ripple underneath its fur and got good look at its sharp incisors before they pierced the tender rabbit flesh. He could almost hear the bones crunch.

Draco felt Hermione's eyes upon him. "So," she asked, "what do you think?"

"I think a wolf would work, actually."

"Good," she nodded, chancing a smile.

"Indeed," he said, lifting himself from the couch. He gathered the stuff he left on the table and headed upstairs.

"Hey, wait," Hermione called to him.

Draco turned around. "What do you want?" he questioned in an annoyed tone.

Hermione furrowed her brow in what Draco interpreted as a mix of confusion, annoyance, and anger. "Nothing," she said with a dissatisfied tone. "Absolutely nothing."

Without another look, Hermione turned her head back to her book. Draco looked at her for a second longer, wondered why the hell he felt so damned guilty, shrugged off the unusual emotion, fell into bed, and slept within minutes.


	13. Ch 13: The Fox

Author's Note: A little holiday gift for all of my amazing readers out there! Hope you guys have an awesome night! Much love - Mel

The Fox

Unsure of what she _was_expecting, Hermione was honestly surprised when Draco abruptly got up from the couch and headed to his room for the night.

'Ungrateful git,' she thought, glaring at his closed door and willing it to burst into flames. 'You know, I'm not even surprised… I imagined too much decency in him. But _how_ I managed such a feat is beyond me.' She tried to get back into her work, but could not focus. She moodily slammed shut the book and glared at Malfoy's door once more. 'Arrogant jerk…a worm is more fitting than a wolf…'

She left her books strewn across the table; Hermione planned to work on her research at every possible moment and knew that she would be thinking about it constantly the next day.

After finishing her evening toilette, Hermione snuggled deep down into her crimson sheets, petting Crookshanks, who wriggled up against her begging for attention. The orange cat soon fell into a peaceful sleep because of Hermione's ministrations. She followed suit soon after, although her sleep was not so untroubled. A dream plagued her unconscious mind, causing her to thrash and cry out in bed.

_She was running through a heavy forest for some reason, making her way quickly down the wooded path. She knew not what she was running from, only that it was dangerous. She kept her brown eyes trained on the leaf-strewn trail ahead of her, trying to ignore the ferocious beating of her heart and the heavy panting of her breath. Her legs were screaming in agony, but Hermione forced herself to keep running, ignoring the ache until it was truly unbearable._

_Salvation from the pain came in the form of an upraised root. Her foot caught and Hermione stumbled forward, experiencing the strangest sensation of flying and a bizarre fear that she would never hit the ground. But hit she did, scraping her chin and hands and bending her left wrist in an awkward position. But the floor she hit was no longer that of a beaten path. It was, instead, the cool and open grass of the Hogwarts' grounds. Her momentary confusion about the change of scenery soon dissipated: she could hear her adversary catching up. A heavy gait was quickly coming closer, bringing with it a sharp sense of foreboding._

_She struggled to stand, but the root had wound itself around her foot like Devil's Snare, securing her to the cold ground. The predator was directly behind her now. Instead of ripping into her flesh like she imagined it would, the animal leapt over her head. It soared through the air, a mass of grey fur, sharp claws, and raw power. It landed before her and turned around, coolly regarding her with a pair of familiar steel eyes._

_Her mouth dropped open as the wolf turned into Draco, changing elegantly from beast to man. He regarded her with the same apathetic stare as before; no kindness or caring was held within the grey depths. It was worse than any glare of hatred that he had ever given her; he felt absolutely nothing towards her. While this would not have bothered her any other day, in this case, it was heart-breaking. Utter disinterest was far worse than loathing; she would rather take the latter any day. She started to cry at his emotionless stare. Her tears ran ceaselessly down her cheeks and mingled with the grass beneath her face, instantly killing the lush green to scratchy dull brown._

_Draco's expression did not change as he witnessed Hermione's pain. She was on the verge of calling out to him, but he disappeared in a flash of brilliant white light before she could._

Hermione woke with a start, sweat coating her body and her heart beating fast. Crookshanks, who had wisely moved to the end of the bed to escape his master's thrashing limbs, lazily raised his head. Hermione held her hand to her chest and tried to slow her breathing. Once she reassured herself that she was alright, she fell asleep again.

When she awoke the next morning, did not remember her dream. She was, however, in a foul mood and oddly unrefreshed. 'It feels like I didn't sleep at all last night,' she thought with a yawn. 'But at least I woke up on time today.' She took her time in the shower and while getting dressed. She made her way down the stairs at around the same time as Draco. She descended first, glancing wearily at the table of research that loomed like a cloud above her head. She sighed and headed out the door. Draco followed soon after her and was about to walk off when Hermione spoke.

"When I was talking to Godric yesterday, he said we should explore the passages that lead from here to the rest of the school."

He stopped and regarded her blankly. "So?"

Hermione tried not to roll her eyes at him. "_So_," she said, "if you don't have anywhere you immediately need to be, why don't we find a shortcut to the Great Hall?"

"And if we get lost?"

She shrugged. "Then we skip breakfast, I suppose."

Draco seemed torn between indecision. He looked down the known path to the Great Hall, then back at Hermione. He sighed in acquiescence. "Fine. Let's go."

Hermione dared a smile and led the way. Through the wall she slipped and actually looked around the corridor she was in. It was dark, but not pitch black. Light was coming from somewhere, the source invisible to Hermione's eyes. The ceiling was about eight feet high and the corridor just wide enough for two people: quite comfortable for them both. The stone was the same gray brick that was constant throughout the rest of the school. It was slightly cooler in the tunnel. Hermione shuddered under her robe from the temperature change.

Draco's usual drawl interrupted her observations. "You may be able to run on nothing, Granger, but the rest of us have to eat. Do you mind if we get a move on?"

Hermione whipped her head back to glare at him and silently moved forward, excited for her first Hogwarts adventure.

XOX

"Granger, it's been nearly twenty minutes already," complained Malfoy, not for the first time. "How the hell did you manage to get us lost?"

"Well, I don't see you coming up with any clever ideas to get us un-lost," said Hermione while looking down two nearly identical stone passageways.

Draco ignored her. "Why did I ever consent to come down here in the first place? All it did was made me miss breakfast."

"The best way to learn directions is to get lost," Hermione said sagely, leading them down the corridor to the right. "Think of it as an adventure, Malfoy, and stop moaning! It's incredibly irritating."

She felt Draco's glare on her back. "Now," she mumbled to herself, "where are we?"

"Oh, move over, Granger!" Draco pushed his way in front of her, taking the lead for the first time since they stepped into the tunnels. "Follow me."

"You don't know where you're going either!" Hermione pointed out, unwilling to relinquish her spot in the lead but following him quickly nonetheless. "We'll do no better under your guidance!"

After a few turns and some hurried walking, Draco turned to her and smirked. "Oh really?" he asked in cocky voice. They had arrived at a dead end, which could only mean one thing: an exit.

Hermione did not show her gratitude. "Dumb luck," she quipped as she stepped into the light of the Great Hall. Draco and Hermione separated to their respective tables, having time only to grab a few slices of toast before they shuffled off to class.

Hermione was unable to enjoy her lessons as much as usual. Her adventure through the tunnels had tired her out and the fact that Malfoy was right about the directions put her in a funk. Not only that, but her Transfigurations homework was hanging over her head on a thin thread, threatening to break and crush her with its enormity.

After dinner, she curled up on the couch once more and flipped through the many animal books she borrowed from the library. Her mind jumped to and from the many possibilities, but settled on nothing. No animal that she spotted seemed appropriate. She did not want to be a dog or a wolf and she did not want to be a cat. She wanted something in between the two, but knew nothing of the sort existed.

And then there was always the possibility of a bird. But Hermione did not like to fly, at least, not on broomsticks. 'How would I handle wings?' she thought. Rodents were also an option, but her opinion of them was understandably tainted.

Three hours passed and Hermione still did not have an animal. She barely noticed when Draco entered the common room and sat down in the same chair as he did last night. Neither could she recall twirling her hair in her fingers, but saw evidence of the giant tangle that had developed because of it. She did remember, however, reading the same sentence an infinite number of times and getting no where in her thought process.

Her soft brown eyes filled with frustrated tears. 'Why can't I just pick an animal?' she silently lamented while staring at her book. An errant tear fell from her eye onto the page, which absorbed the saline liquid quickly. She smeared some of the ink when she rubbed the spot. She wiped her eyes and sniffed.

"This is so stupid," she whispered to herself, letting out a little laugh at her over-emotional reaction to such a frivolous topic. Despite her laughter, more tears came.

"Um, Granger?" came Draco's voice from across the room. Hermione looked up, realizing for the first time that he was in the room as well. She looked back down and tried to discretely wipe her tears with the edge of her sleeve. Eyes a bit drier now, Hermione looked up to see Draco intently staring at her. For some reason, he looked torn.

"What is it?" he finally spat out.

"Oh, nothing. It's nothing…" She sighed in aggravation and let the floodgates open. "It's this Transfiguration assignment. For the life of me, I can't pick an animal! I'm…I'm just frustrated, is all." She sniffled noisily and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand.

Draco looked at her disbelievingly, irritating her slightly. "After all the help you gave me last night, you can't answer your own questions?"

Hermione glared at him, tears ceasing to allow for the necessary function. "I don't need this," she said while rising from the couch. "I'll be in my room."

"Guess you don't want my help then," he drawled in a tone of mock disappointment.

She was halfway to the stairs when he said this. "And what would you do to help?" she yelled, turning around. "Insult me? Tell me that every animal I pick is useless and stupid? Yeah, some help you would be!"

"If that's the attitude you want to take about it, then you don't '_deserve'_ my help!" Draco said, his irritation showing plainly.

"_Deserve _your help? You didn't _deserve_ my help yesterday!" she yelled back at him. "But I helped anyways! And what did you do instead of returning the favor? You went to your room…to sleep! I don't even know why I bothered to get my hopes up. Reciprocating kindness is far too good for you," Hermione ranted.

Draco had stood up halfway through her venting, prepared to defend himself even though he knew every one of Hermione's points was valid. Instead of insulting her or establishing his correctness, though, from Draco's mouth angrily spurted something unexpected even to him: a concession.

"Did you ever think that I felt guilty about not helping you last night and that's why I'm doing it now?" he asked heatedly.

Hermione's face fell from its angered mould at his words as she looked at him thoughtfully. Draco's face took on a pinkish hue as he realized what he just said. He looked at the floor in embarrassment and was silent in his discomfiture.

"Oh," she said quietly.

"Yeah, _oh_," Draco mocked. He moved to the couch and held the book in his lap. Hermione joined him, and soon an awkward silence descended over the room.

"So," Draco cleared his throat, trying to rid his voice of anger, "what were you thinking?"

"Mammal, for sure. Something on the smaller side, but not a rodent," Hermione mumbled quickly in soft embarrassment.

"Any specific characteristics?"

Hermione furrowed her brow in thought. "I want the creature to be intelligent, to be able to figure out what to do in a pinch."

"Any defenses?"

"No. I don't want to really fight."

Draco looked at her like she was crazy. "I'd choose something with at least some defenses. You don't want to be prey."

"Okay, fine. Small teeth, though. If anything, I want it to be quick."

"You want to run?"

His implied message was not lost on her. She looked at him confidently. "Sometimes fleeing is the most appropriate action, the only one that we can take. There's nothing wrong with that." She gave him a pointed look, which she was sure he picked up.

"Small teeth, quick, small stature, a mammal…" He thumbed through the book for a minute, giving the descriptions cursory glances. "What about…an ermine?"

"No," Hermione said maybe a bit too forcefully. "Absolutely no rodents."

"Fine. What about a fox? A red fox?"

The idea struck Hermione as she looked into the fire. "A red fox," she murmured. "Let me see the book."

He handed it over to her. She perused the information and found it all quite pleasing. 'Quick, intelligent, adaptable…' She couldn't imagine how she did not see it in the first place! She smiled. "It's perfect."

"Good. I'm off to bed."

"Okay. Goodnight," she said before she could stop herself.

Draco grunted in reply. He was almost all the way up the stairs when Hermione remembered something.

"Oh, and thank you." He turned around and regarded her with tired eyes. Draco shrugged, his face devoid of emotion. He vanished into the confines of his room without another word.

XOX

The next day in Transfigurations, Hermione proudly stood up and announced her choice Animagus. She received a smile from Professor McGonagall, who told her that a red fox would be very appropriate. Draco got the same compliment when he stood and declared his.


	14. Ch 14: A Matter of Sway

Author's Note: Hey all! Here's another chappie for your enjoyment. Bit of harsh language in it, just f.y.i. This'll be the last one I post in 2007! Hurrah!! So I hope you like it and I'll see you all in 2008:D

A Matter of Sway

Sooner than Draco had anticipated, the two-week deadline he gave Blaise was up. And like he feared, he had thought of nothing. This left Draco one option and one option only: tell the truth.

'This is not going to go well,' he predicted while traversing the secret passageway from his dormitory to the Great Hall. All week, Blaise had been trying to make Draco slip up and give a hint as to what the plan was. As his failures to entice an answer out of Draco mounted, so did his excitement. Even as Draco approached the table for supper, he could see that Blaise was struggling to check his anticipation.

The young man's enthusiasm had visibly spread to the other Slytherins seated around him. They were all smiling and laughing and talking animatedly, which was very unlike the group of Slytherins with whom Draco was associated.

'I never realized how much sway Blaise held in this group,' Draco thought. 'He seems to affect them just as much as I do, if not more.' This was a disturbing thought to Draco, who had always assumed that he had complete control of his posse. The realization that his group may be mutinous scared him. He had a decidedly ominous feeling about what he was about to reveal.

He struggled to keep the concern out of his eyes as he sat down. Blaise tried to play it cool too, nodding curtly to Draco, as was his usual greeting. But Draco could see secret glances thrown his way and a faintly wicked smile on his lips.

Dinner came and went without a word and dessert appeared in a barrage of bright colors and sweet smells. Draco had remained stoically silent throughout. Blaise's attitude, though, had definitely changed. At first, he had been barely able to contain his excitement. Draco then saw his mood shift to disappointment, then suspicion, frustration, then subtly to anger. Finally, he threw down his pudding, spattering it all over the tablecloth.

"Out with it, Malfoy," he said forcefully. "I've been waiting this entire day for you to tell us, but you haven't said a damned thing. I'm sick of it. Tell us. Now."

Draco looked up from his pie in surprise. Blaise had never talked to him that way before, nor had he ever commanded him to do anything. Draco bristled under the humorless tone.

"And if I refuse to tell you, Zabini?" he drawled, brow arched.

Blaise's pale blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "Then I think we'll _all _have something to say about it."

Draco, whose eyes had been locked on Blaise, looked around the table. His cronies, who had always been so loyal to him, were now openly glaring at him. He was not surprised at Crabbe and Goyle turning on him; they could be bought easily. When he met Pansy's eyes though, he was surprised. He no longer saw the obsessive longing to which he was accustomed.

"What is this? A coup?" Draco laughed sarcastically. "After all that I've done for you all, this is how I'm repaid? I'm ousted from the very group _I_ created? This is bullshit."

No one said anything. They only continued to glare at him.

Draco was getting desperate now. Guilt was not working.

"Crabbe…Goyle! I've always treated you well, helped you earn your marks. Do you want that to stop? This year is N.E.W.T.S as well. You know as well as I that you can't afford to fail even one. And what about a share of all the care packages I receive from home?"

The two boys looked like they were going to give for a second. Blaise noticed their hesitation and immediately spoke up. "I've already covered that, Malfoy. I'm their tutor now. And you haven't received one care package yet. Don't think I haven't noticed…you always gloated about them. But none this year? Fallen out of daddy's good graces, dear Draco?" Blaise taunted.

Draco glared at him, angry that he had been so observant. He suddenly regretted gloating so much. Then, he turned to Pansy.

"Pansy. How could you forget all the good times we've had?" Draco made his eyes soften and looked at her seductively. He saw Pansy's eyelids flutter – a sign that he was putting on a good act. It was almost too easy. Seizing the opportunity, he moved closer to her. His voice dropped an octave lower as he spoke to her in barely more than a whisper. "You were always amazing," he purred into her ear. "The only one for me…" He stroked her cheek with a pale finger and saw her eyes close in pleasure.

Draco smirked and rolled his eyes. 'Women.' It was almost too easy.

Blaise fumed from across the table. "Pansy!" he barked. She immediately came out of her trance and looked guiltily from Blaise to Draco.

"I'm sorry, Blaise." Her eyes smoldered as she looked at him.

Just then, Draco knew what had happened. He immediately dropped the act. "Found another fuck, have you Pansy?" She gasped at his audacity and looked ready to say something, but Draco cut her off. "Enough," he said, rising to his feet. "This is bullshit. You want me gone? Fine. I'm gone. But don't expect credit, or mercy, from me any time soon."

Draco tried to leave the table, but found that he could not due to Blaise's grip on the front of his robes. He drew Draco's face closer to his own and whispered dangerously to him.

"Watch your back, 'Malfoy'. You have no friends here, and we could make your year a very unenjoyable one if we so choose."

"And you forget just who you have in your grasp. Ten points from Slytherin and detention for foul-play. Remember your place, _Zabini_."

Draco's final show of control infuriated Blaise. He let go of Draco's robe, but instead of sitting back down, threw a punch. His bony fist collided with Draco's cheek, throwing him off balance.

The rage stored in him from over the summer came to a head at that very moment. A fine red mist coated his vision as he let out a wild cry of anger and launched himself across the table at Blaise. The two boys fell to the hard stone floor. Draco swung blind punches at Blaise, caught off guard, could do nothing but defend himself.

This commotion caught the attention of the students around the hall. As one being, they chanted, "Fight! Fight! Fight!" The mob rose to its feet, some standing on tables to get a better look. They surrounded the fighting two like scavenging animals, more than ready to pick over the loser's remains.

The simultaneous shift of attention from brightly colored sweets to a tangled mass of people at the Slytherin table earned attention from the professors as well. McGonagall stood up and shot up a bang with her wand. The great noise, louder than any burst of thunder, reverberated off the ceiling and echoed in the ears of the students, who immediately silenced.

"That is enough!" she yelled, purposefully striding over to Draco and Blaise, who had still not stopped fighting. She waved her wand at them. Draco flew off of Blaise and landed with an uncomfortable thump on the floor. His head cracked against the rock; stars danced before his eyes.

He sat up and clutched his head. Through the bright, popping lights he saw McGonagall help up a significantly bloodied Blaise. Draco felt a brief swell of satisfaction. "You two," she said, pointing to Crabbe and Goyle, "take Mr. Zabini to the Hospital Wing." The two brutes hoisted Blaise between them and strode off with Pansy bringing up the rear, worriedly wringing her hands. Draco smirked victoriously as he saw Blaise stumble and drip more blood onto the stone floor.

"_You_," she said to Malfoy. His smirk immediately disappeared. "Follow me to my office immediately. Ms. Granger, you as well."

Draco saw Hermione slowly materialize from the crowd. She had a grim and angry look etched upon her face. Twirling around, she quickly followed McGonagall to her office. Neither waited for Draco, nor even offered to help him up. In fact, no one offered Draco aid. Instead, the students formed a circle around him, their eyes locked upon his figure. Some eyes held a look of triumph, others of confusion. Draco was slightly frightened when he saw hate and even more so when he saw the familiar look of opportunity upon several visages.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, eager to escape the circle of students standing between him and his punishment. A path parted for him and whispers broke out like a soft wind. A thousand eyes burned his back as he walked towards McGonagall's new office.

XOX

'If this was any other situation, it would be comical,' Draco thought. Both McGonagall and Hermione were planted in front of him with identical furious expressions. McGonagall's lips, when they were not telling Draco off for his stupidity, were a thin white line. Hermione imitated the professor's stern facade, her arms crossed in front of her chest and her eyes narrowed. The two looked so similar it was frightening.

Draco allowed the tiniest of smiles to grace his lips, but the subtle change was caught by McGonagall's sharp eyes.

"I don't know what part of this you think is funny, Mr. Malfoy, but I would advise you to wipe that silly smirk off your face this instant."

With some difficulty, Draco sobered up. The thought kept playing through his mind, though, making it incredibly tough to focus on McGonagall's lecture, which had been going on for quite some time.

"…You are Head Boy of this school and are expected to conduct yourself as such, Mr. Malfoy. And not only are you a Head, but you are also treading a_very'_thin line. You crossed that line today, Mr. Malfoy, and the consequences now fall on you both."

Hermione's eyes widened and with a gasp, she turned to McGonagall.

"Yes, Ms. Granger," Professor McGonagall, "_both_ _of you_. I thought I made myself quite clear at the beginning of the year. If one of you stepped over the line, it would reflect on you both. As Head Boy and Head Girl, you are a team. And what happens to one happens to the other. So, Mr. Malfoy, Slytherin will be docked twenty points, Gryffindor docked ten. You've earned yourself a weeks worth of detentions, Mr. Malfoy," she said strictly. "Ms. Granger, you will serve one. Any more _shenanigans_ and I can promise the consequences will be severe. Off to your dormitory now, both of you."

The two chastised teens left McGonagall's office in complete silence. Together, they walked through the corridors, each wondering what the other was thinking. They soon reached the portrait hole, where Helga Hufflepuff was brushing her long blonde hair.

The woman startled slightly as they approached. "Oh my!" she said, holding her hand to her chest. "You gave me a bit of a fright just then, my dears, skulking to the portrait hole with such black expressions. But never mind your frowns when it is such a beautiful evening! My name is Helga Hufflepuff. You may call me Helga."

Hermione remembered her manners despite her dark mood. "A pleasure to meet you, Helga. My name is Hermione Granger."

She nodded, then looked to Draco. "And you are?" He stared back at her without replying. Her naïve and innocent looking face twisted into a slightly pained expression that she covered with a smile almost immediately. She chuckled nervously. "You must be Draco Malfoy then, if I am not mistaken."

"If you already knew, then why did you ask?" Draco retorted waspishly.

She looked flustered at his cheek, having probably never experienced such a thing in her life. Hermione looked as if she could have kicked him.

"Please excuse Malfoy, Helga. He hasn't enough sense in him to keep a civil tongue, nor the decency to do so if he did." She glared at Malfoy, who looked back with equal malice.

Helga nodded, a slightly perturbed look in her eyes. "Well," she said in a shaky voice, her composure obviously shattered, "here's the riddle. To what question can you never answer yes?"

They were silent for a moment until Draco spoke up. "Are you asleep?"

Hermione was just about to say something else about Draco's rudeness when the portrait swung open and Helga bid them good-night.

XOX

Hermione stepped into the common room and stopped in front of the door, blocking Draco's exit to his room. She put her hands on her hips and took an offensive posture against him. Draco looked at her suspiciously and tried to move past her. She stepped in front of him, and again when he moved the other way.

"I can't believe you!" she started, finally getting to release the anger she had been holding in. "Fighting in your second week here? What is wrong with you? And you got me in trouble as well! I, the Head Girl, lost House points _and_ have a detention! This is unacceptable!"

"Move it, Granger," he said wearily. "My head hurts and I don't feel like listening to your shit right now." He tried to move past her again.

"I don't care what you feel like doing right now, Malfoy. You're going to hear me out!"

"And why would I listen to you?" He shoved past her, knocking into her shoulder again.

Sick of his disrespect, Hermione's face changed from one of anger to a ferocious smile. "Because you have no choice!" she snarled. "_Locomotor_ _mortis_!"

Draco's legs locked in place and his mouth fell open, spewing a fountain of insults and curses at Hermione. He was about to draw his wand to fight back, but Hermione saw his plan.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

The thin shaft of wood flew elegantly through the air. She caught his wand with a flick of her wrist and placed it on a nearby table.

"Now listen to me, Malfoy," she said while circling him slowly, keeping her wand pointed at his chest. "I like being Head Girl. I like it a lot, actually. It's something I've always wanted and now that I have it, I do not want to lose it. In fact, I _refuse_ to lose it, especially because of a prat like you! So you had better shape up and start acting properly."

"What are you, my mother?" Draco asked mockingly.

"Well, since it doesn't seem like she's done a very good job of it…"

Draco snarled in rage. "Don't you talk about her, you filthy Mudblood! She's better than you will ever be!"

"Hm, yes. I suppose she would be if I ever aspired to be an arrogant mistress of the two most evil wizards in the world," she said conversationally.

"What are you implying, Granger?" Draco asked in a dangerous whisper.

"I think you know," she said with a mean smile.

Draco's head buzzed with energy and his body began to tingle. Several things then happened simultaneously. Without uttering a single word, his wand flew off the table and landed in his hand. His legs unfroze without a single spell being cast and he advanced upon Hermione.

"_Incendio_!" he said, fire shooting from the tip of his wand and catching the hem of Hermione's robe. She shrieked and immediately shouted, "_Aguamenti_!" Water gushed from her wand onto the little conflagration. She saw that he was readying another attack and silently cast a spell of protection around her. Draco noticed this however and instead of casting a spell walked towards her with startling speed. She tried to turn and run, but it was too late: Draco already had a handful of her curly hair entwined around his pale fingers. The pain caused Hermione to drop her wand.

She made a small "ah" of discomfort as Draco pulled her close to his face.

"Hm, this seems familiar…But oh, what's missing?"

He turned her head roughly. Molten steel met sharp brown as their eyes locked in a battle of wills.

"Ah yes," Draco whispered. "Potter and Weasley. They aren't here to save you now, Granger." His low, rumbling laugh was at once dangerous and oddly seductive.

"Who says I can't save myself?" she whispered harshly. With a jerk, she smashed her knee into Draco's groin. Instinctively, he kept hold of her hair while bring his hands downward. Hermione was flung to the floor as Draco doubled over in pain.

Hermione scurried to her feet and grabbed her familiar wand from the wood floor. She brandished it at Malfoy, who was still hunched over in pain. Eyes shining, she wordlessly backed away from him. Once she got to the stairs, she turned and sprinted up them.

Draco saw her rapid flight and yelled out to her. "This isn't over yet! I'll get you back, you bitch!"

XOX

Hermione slammed her door and cast a locking spell upon it. She leaned on the warm wood, trying to quell her tears and catch her breath. The latter she was able to do within a minute. The former…she was not so successful. Crystalline tears dripped down her cheeks as she replayed the scene over in her head.

'What just happened? What the _hell_ just happened?' she asked herself, fully aware of the answer. In simplest terms: Draco had attacked her. She sobbed into her hands, tears of fear mixed with tears of relief. Thoughts tore through her mind, whipping her into a panicked frenzy. 'He's crazy. He's violent. I can't stay here with him. He'll kill me. Oh Merlin, he'll kill me soon. I can't take this. I have to go. I have to go now.'

She started frantically walking around her room. The more she walked, the more she shook. Quickly becoming physically unable to stand, Hermione finally steadied herself on the window ledge, chest heaving in exertion. The gentle scene of the school grounds calmed her. The sky was an array of light blue, lavender, and pink: the makings of a gorgeous Scottish sunset. She sat down on the ledge and leaned her head up against the cool glass.

'I can't keep this up,' she thought while staring sightlessly out at the sprawling landscape beneath her. 'I can't keep fighting with him and expecting to come out on top. He's bigger and stronger than I am, and he's right: Harry and Ron aren't here to help me like in the past. I need to be more careful. And I need to start snooping,' she added as an afterthought.

Hermione felt a little guilty. It was already two weeks into the year and she had not even attempted to find any information about Voldemort. 'I don't want to disappoint Moody,' Hermione thought. She resolved to start her mission in earnest tomorrow. She sighed, her breath fogging up the darkening scene before her. She started slightly as Crookshanks hopped onto her lap.

"I guess it's time for bed then, isn't it, Crookshanks?" He looked up at her with intelligent yellow eyes and allowed himself to be picked up and placed upon her bed. After washing the excess tears from her eyes, she changed into her pajamas and crawled into bed. Sleep came slower than she would have liked, giving her plenty of time to reflect upon the evening's events and instilling in her an even bigger fear.


	15. Ch 15: Fight and Flight

Fight and Flight 

Hermione woke to her alarm despite it being a Saturday. She liked getting up early – it gave her plenty of time to finish up her homework and start on assignments for next week. She could never understand how Ron and Harry could be content with sleeping until noon, successfully wasting half the day.

She took her time getting dressed and grasped the doorknob with a firm hand. Instead of turning the cool brass handle, though, she stopped and looked at the door. For a full minute.

'This is ridiculous,' she thought, still staring at the impenetrable wooden barrier. 'I have a plan. And my plan does not involve looking at the door all day.' Despite her self-reprimand, Hermione's feet remained stubbornly planted.

Another minute passed. 'I'm going have to leave this room eventually. What are the chances that he's going to be up this early anyways? I should just go now before he wakes and try to avoid him as much as possible. I wonder if Ron would let me borrow the Marauder's Map…' She scoffed at her silliness. 'I'm being ridiculous. I am leaving this room. Right…now.'

With a deep breath, she turned the knob and swung the door open forcefully. She winced and braced herself for an attack, wand brandished in front of her. All she felt was a gentle rush of wind.

Hermione chanced a glance onto the landing and saw no one. Peeking her head out further, it was certain: she was the only one awake. Her shoulders relaxed. Feeling more confident now, she made her way towards the stairs.

She then heard the soft swish of fabric behind her back. A jolt of panic ran through her and she spun around, but it was too late. Her wand flew out of her hand and into Draco Malfoy's. Hermione's brown eyes widened with fear: Draco looked absolutely murderous. "Malfoy, please. Listen. About last night…" She held both hands out in front of her, as if that would retard his steady approach.

"Yes, about last night," he said in a dangerously low voice. "You didn't think I'd forget that quickly, did you Granger?" He advanced upon her, his wand pointed at her chest. Hermione stepped backwards as much as she could but was soon flush against the railing. She had nowhere to run.

"That little stunt of yours will cost you dear, Mudblood. _Stupe_-!"

Draco got no further in his curse. Out of thin air, Crookshanks hurtled at him. He yelled in surprise and swung his arm out to bat the attacking cat away from his face. His hand connected with fur and the cat gave a loud, screechy meow as it flew through the air and landed on its feet. Within a second of his landing, Crookshanks was back at Malfoy, who was desperately trying to protect his head from the spitting creature's sharp claws.

Hermione looked on in horror as her cat was repeatedly batted away by Draco. "Malfoy, no!" she yelled, jumping into the fray. She tried to take hold of Crookshanks, who bit at anything that came near him. Recoiling from the hurt of his small, sharp teeth, Hermione was deterred from her goal for only a moment. In a desperate effort to save her cat, she shoved her way in between Draco and Crookshanks. She achieved her goal of an unharmed cat, but the got something she was not expecting from the mix: a clout to her temple.

Hermione saw, heard, and felt nothing. Her world became senseless and black. She fell to the floor with a thud.

XOX

Draco felt his fist collide with something that was definitely _not _cat. He opened his eyes and saw for the first time the damage he had done. Hermione was lying still on the floor. Her face looked serene, almost like she was sleeping. But the way in which her body was positioned – an uncomfortable contortion involved sprawled arms and folded legs – indicated to Draco that her repose upon the floor was anything but slumber.

Steel eyes wide in shocked, Draco panicked. Down the stairs he ran and quickly out the door, ignoring the portrait's inquiry as to the commotion he heard inside and Hermione's whereabouts. He strode purposefully towards the Great Hall and picked up an apple to eat for breakfast. He did not dare sit for a meal at the Slytherin table: the stares he was receiving from even the first years were frightening and ominous. He now knew the Slytherins were no longer friends to him. Indeed, quite the opposite.

'This day keeps getting better and better,' Draco thought, taking a large bite of apple as he headed towards the library. For hours, he immersed himself in books, researching his chosen Animagus animal further as well as finishing an entire potions essay. Thoughts of Hermione, lying unconscious on the floor in that uncomfortable position, kept floating into his head. It was quite distracting.

'What if she hasn't woken yet?' He looked at the clock. 'No, she would be up by now. I didn't hit her that hard…did I?' He glanced at the clock again. 'What do I care anyways? If she dies, it's all the better for me.' Then, he accidentally broke the tip of his quill. 'Wait, what if she died? That's all I need...' Soon, he could focus on nothing but these thoughts. He threw down the broken quill in irritation, spattering black ink all over the table. 'Damn it. Fine, I'll go check on her.'

Draco was about to leave when he heard a familiar voice carry across the library.

"Hermione?" Ron yelled. "Hermione!"

"No shouting in the library!" Draco heard Madame Pince hiss. "Look around if you want to find something!"

'Shit,' Draco thought, ducking behind a bookcase. 'If the Weasel finds me here, he's bound to ask me about Granger. Even if I don't answer, I'm finished…that prat won't hesitate to hex me.'

"Dean?" came Ron's voice from no more than two bookshelves over. "Have you seen Hermione?"

"No, not all day. She may still be sleeping or in her room. It is a weekend, after all."

"No," Ron said. "Hermione doesn't sleep in, and she would have at least come down for breakfast."

"Have you tried her room?"

"Yeah, ten minutes ago." Draco's stomach dropped uncomfortably. "There's no answer."

Both voices tapered off into silence for a minute, then Dean spoke up.

"What about Malfoy? He's Head Boy. He may know where she is."

'Damn it,' Draco thought. Their conversation had taken an unexpected and unwelcome turn. 'I have to get out of here.'

"Have you seen him?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, actually. He was over a few tables a little while ago. He should still be there."

"Great," said Ron. "Thanks."

"Hey, how did he get to be Head Boy anyways? Was it McGonagall's idea of a joke?"

"Dean, you know as well as I do that McGonagall doesn't joke."

Dean laughed at this remark and said something else, but Draco could not hear it. By that time, he had successfully snuck past both of them and was out the door. He was not halfway down the hall when he heard his name angrily shouted.

"Malfoy!"

Draco knew it was Ron. Despite this knowledge, he turned anyways. Ron was standing high and proud at the library exit with a fire in his eyes matching the color of his hair.

'Bloody hell.'

Almost at the same time, Ron and Draco sprinted. Draco's bag slowed him down a bit; he was barely able to keep in front of Ron, who was shouting a steady stream of threats and curses.

"Malfoy, you slimy git! What did you do to her? Where is she? I swear, if you as much as laid a finger on her, I'll kill you!"

'Not good, not good, not good,' Draco thought as he sprinted through the Great Hall. Students looked up in surprise. The quicker ones cheered Ron and laughed heartily at the ridiculous scene.

Draco had the advantage of familiarity, but Ron had no bag to slow him down. Draco was losing ground, and losing it fast.

'I can't get in another fight. I'll ruin it for myself,' he thought, glancing over his shoulder to see a furious Ron. His eyes grazed the wall when an idea struck him. 'Perfect!'

He took a sharp right turn and disappeared into one of the hidden passageways. He heard Ron shout in surprise and slide to a stop. After a moment, Draco saw a freckled hand experimentally poke itself through the wall. His brief respite officially over, Draco was off once again, winding in and out of the passages. He had the good fortune to lose Ron completely halfway to his dormitory but was not about to take a chance. He kept running and launched himself out of the exit.

Draco gasped for air as he looked up at the portrait, currently filled by Godric Gryffindor. He glared down menacingly at Draco, baring his teeth in a lion-esque snarl.

"Listen here, boy, and listen well. You shall enter without a password today for I fear for Ms. Granger's life. But know this: if something such as what I fear is behind this wall _ever _ happens again, you will incur not only the wrath of Headmistress McGonagall, but my anger as well."

Draco gulped in understanding and dove through the open portrait hole. He was in the process of closing it when he saw Ron appear at the end of the hall. The tired boy let out an angry roar and dashed towards the portal. Lack of oxygen suddenly unimportant, Draco smirked smugly and closed the door just as Ron reached it. He could hear Ron pounding furiously on the portrait and Godric yelling at him to stop. Ron yelped in what Draco thought was pain and started to yell through the portrait.

"Hermione! Hermione! Can you hear me? Hermione!"

Draco dropped his bag and looked up at the balcony, where he had left her in her unconscious state. He saw nothing. A wave of relief washed over his body. 'Good, she's alive.'

He then heard her weak voice come from the other side of the couch.

"Ron?"

There was silence outside of the portrait hole for a moment. Then a tentative, "Hermione?"

Hermione's response came louder now and more desperate. "Ron!"

Draco vaulted over the couch. Hermione was just starting to pick herself up off the cushions. He landed on the floor, kneeling next to the couch, and clapped a hand over her mouth. The force pushed her head back down to the pillow. "Shh, Granger. Shut up," he hissed.

Draco looked into Hermione's eyes, which were wild with fear. She struggled against his hand, but he was stronger than she. She realized this quickly and tears came to brown, panicked eyes. Her small hands stopped scrabbling frantically at his and instead seemed to clench and unclench spasmodically. Draco felt his heart tighten interestingly at Hermione's raw fear.

"This is between you and me, Granger," Draco said to her in a whisper. "Tell him that you're ill and that you just want to sleep. Tell him to go away."

Hermione's tear-glazed eyes looked up at him with hesitant fear.

"_Do it _," Draco demanded in a dangerous whisper, emphasizing his point by tightening his grip on her fine jaw.

He removed his hand from her lips and watched her take a swallow of air. Draco's eyes were hardened steel. His determination and manic glint were probably what made Hermione actually agree to lie.

"I'm fine, Ron," she said in a shaky voice, keeping her eyes locked on Draco's. "I'm just not feeling well. I'll…I'll talk to you later."

"But Hermione! Malfoy! He's in there and he was running and…"

Her eyes looked unsure. Draco gave her a fierce stare and curtly nodded his head.

"He's in his room, Ron. I didn't even hear him come in."

Draco heard Ron whisper something similar to "Bollocks" outside of the door. "Hermione," he pleaded. "Just let me in, let me see how you're doing."

"I'm fine, Ron. Please, just go. I need to sleep."

"But…"

"Go," she said strongly.

Draco heard Ron swear again. "Fine, but I'm writing Harry about this!"

Before Hermione could say anything further, Draco heard Ron's feet shuffle off down the hallway. He sighed in relief and looked at Hermione properly for the first time.

Her curly brown hair was tousled and matted; she had obviously been lying in one position for quite a long time. Draco's heart gave another funny twitch. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glazed over with glassy tears, some of which had spilled down over her cheeks. Her skin was paler than it should have been and a great bruise was forming over her left temple – where Draco had accidentally hit her.

He did not know what to say. So, he said nothing. He made no excuse to justify his actions. He made no attempt to apologize or make sure that she was okay. He just looked at her, into her; into her tear-filled, wide, frightened eyes, into her shaking, partly shattered Gryffindor soul. She was so vulnerable…so weak…it was almost intoxicating...

Before he did something he would regret, Draco cleared his throat. "Thanks for that," he said conversationally.

"You didn't deserve it," came back her glaring reply.

"There are many things that I don't deserve, Granger. Mercy is one of the few I do." He got up and started to walk away.

"Mercy?!" Hermione called to him from the couch. "That was not _mercy_. That was…that was self-preservation! You had the upper hand…what did you expect me to do? Tell Ron the truth and be trapped in here at your hands? After what happened this morning, that's the last thing I want."

Draco halted at the bottom of the stairs. He sighed audibly. "This morning…" he started, "this morning was…"

"You left me," Hermione said in a soft and plaintive voice. "I could have been seriously hurt and you left me."

Draco's conscience tore at him to apologize, to tend to her wounds, to care for her despite who and what she was. But he had much practice with ignoring things of the heart. Still facing the stairs and with a grimace distorting his lips, he said, "You're fine now. My being here would have achieved nothing."

He heard her yell in exasperation and get up from the couch. He turned around to see her marching towards him. "Yes, I'm fine _now_," she yelled, standing no more than foot in front of him. "Do you think I was so fine earlier? I woke up and couldn't remember where I was! I couldn't move for at _least _half an hour and when I could, I fell down the stairs! For pity's sake, Malfoy!" Hermione's yells were getting louder and louder and her face was reddening. "But you! You didn't…you…you didn't…"

Draco watched as her brown eyes turned to white as they rolled back into her head. Before she fell to the floor in a dead faint, Draco reached out and grabbed her body. He pulled her unconscious form close to his, propping her up against his lean figure.

He stood there for a moment, puzzled as to what he should do next. He stood next to the stairs, grasping onto the railing for support. Hermione leaned entirely upon his body and one of his arms was wound around her, making sure she did not fall. To a stranger's eyes, it would have looked like a very awkward embrace. To Draco, it simply felt like a very awkward situation.

'What a fine day I've had,' he thought ruefully. With a grunt, he lifted Hermione's limp but light form as best he could and laid her back down on the couch. He sighed and took a seat on the nearby chair. 'I'm here now, you stupid Mudblood,' he thought, glaring at her prone form. 'Happy?'


	16. Ch 16: Delirium

Delirium

_Hermione was in a cold and cruel place. It was dark, her wrists and ankles bound with wire that cut with razor-precision. She could feel its sharp bite; warm, sticky blood slowly trickled down her fingers at the slightest movement._

_'_Where am I?_' she thought, trying in vain to get a handle on her surroundings. She could not see for blackness, could not move for her bonds. She tried to speak, but her mouth was bound tightly as well. Her heart beat frantically as she pivoted on the rough stone floor._

_Then, something entered the room. She couldn't smell it, she couldn't hear it, she couldn't see it. But she knew it was there …something evil. It was dark, foreboding, _forbidding_ – a specter that seeped into every corner and crevice of the room like a poison. She was still with fear as it blanketed her. All her muscles tensed and coiled; Hermione was ready to spring but knew full well that she was completely unable to move._

_The menace took a perverse interest her, settling on her chest and restricting her breathing. Cold suddenly doused her body and the ethereal took on a physical mien: a man. He had long, cold, probing fingers which trailed along every inch of Hermione's helpless body. One wrapped around her neck, with gentility barely hiding subtle hostility, while the other traced the flow of her collarbone, the curve of her breasts, and the plane of her stomach. It was an intimate touch, a lover's caress. But instead of reeling in sensual pleasure, she writhed in utmost disgust. The fingers were making their way lower down her body, past her hips..._

_It was too much. Hermione did everything she could to escape. She kicked, she writhed, she threw herself into the ground, but nothing abetted the man's violation. Just as it seemed like all hope was lost, all the bonds suddenly disappeared. Taking immediate advantage of her new-found freedom, she flailed out her arm at her attacker, who now had an urgent and low voice. It was caught in a warm grip and held steadily above her head. She lashed out with her other arm, only to have it caught in the same vice grip. She screamed in terror as the man had control of her once more._

"Granger? Granger!" shot a familiar voice from the darkness. "Wake up!"

She needed no more direction. Hermione ripped open her eyes. Her chest heaved as her eyes wildly roved the common room, finally settling on Draco, who was mere inches above her. Without thinking, she tore her arms out of his grasp and latched herself around his neck. She cried into his shoulder hot tears of relief.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you. I was…he was going to…" she loosened her grip on him a bit to look into his stunned face. "He almost…" She burst out into tears again and hugged herself fiercely to him once more.

XOX

Draco stood over her, totally stunned. Fifteen minutes ago, she was looking at him with unadulterated fear. Ten minutes, she was screeching at him. Five minutes, she was out cold. Now, she was latched tightly to his neck and sobbing hysterically, no doubt expecting some sort of comfort from whatever nightmare she just had.

'I will never understand this woman,' he thought in amazement.

Draco had never been in this situation before. Never had he the opportunity to comfort anyone, nor had anyone ever asked it of him. He was a professional at the game of seduction and he considered pillow talk an art-form. But Draco knew no words of reassurance. He did not know what to do with the weak and frightened girl currently hanging off his neck. So he stood there helplessly and waited until she was through, hoping it would not take too long – he was getting rather cramped.

She stuttered and sobbed, wetting the skin of his neck with her hot tears. He was stone-still the whole time. Her tears eventually tapered to a slow trickle and her sobs slowly reduced to sniffles. When Hermione regained enough of her senses to realize just what position she was in, Draco felt her entire body go rigid.

Robotically, she loosed her arms from around his neck and fell back upon the pillows. She looked up at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes and flushed in embarrassment. Unable to keep his confused stare, she lowered her eyes.

An awkward silence filled the air while both of them tried to figure out what had just happened. It hung over them, heavy as a rain-filled cloud, ready to burst at any moment. It ruptured over Hermione first, dousing her in a torrent of humiliation, confusion, and frustration. She made a move to get up from the couch, eager to make it to the stairs and escape Draco's gray eyes and furrowed brow.

As she sat up, Draco broke out of his trance. He jumped to his feet suddenly. Instead of clearing the path between her and the stairs, he blocked it and pointed his wand at her face. He saw her eyes widen and her chest rise with a deep inhale of expectant breath. She shrank against the couch cushion as Draco stood over her with his wand. He inwardly winced at her trepidation. He did not know why this bothered him so, but the thought of her violently flinching when he came near made his heart sink.

Instead of hexing her, as no doubt she expected, Draco muttered a healing spell. The bruise on Hermione's face started to fade, then vanished altogether.

"The pain will still remain," he explained as she touched where the cool spell had landed, "but at least you no longer have the discoloration or swelling."

She said not a word as she unsteadily rose from the couch and walked carefully towards the stairs. She stopped at the bottom and gripped the railing tightly, turning her head towards him but keeping her eyes trained on the floor. Then she spoke to him in a soft voice.

"Physical wounds can always be healed. It's the ones inside that can't."

When her plaintive, doe-brown eyes met his, an electric jolt scored through his body. It lasted only a moment. With that, she slowly mounted the staircase to her bedroom, leaving Draco in an affronted state of shock and a stark feeling of depression.

The next week was sufficiently tense between the already edgy dorm mates. Hermione and Draco did not speak to each other at all. Neither did they glance at each other unnecessarily. They worked together only when figuring out the portrait's riddle. Then they immediately entered the common room and made a beeline for their respective rooms.

If it were a normal situation, Draco would not have minded Hermione's silence. He would have been able to get away with knocking points from Gryffindor for no reason. He would have been able to organize his next plan without her interference. She would no longer have made annoying comments to him about his attitude towards the portraits or given him any uptight lectures about tardiness.

But as it was, Draco's was not a normal situation. He could not get away with knocking off House points because every time he passed, students stopped in their tracks to stare at him, making him feel uncomfortably and uncharacteristically self-conscious. Draco had no "plan", and was thusly loathed by the entire Slytherin house. And in a funny way, he almost missed her nagging.

'At least then I'd be able to talk,' he thought. Draco had not spoken for nearly a week, tragically having no one willing to listen. He looked around the Potions dungeon in annoyance. 'This is worse than the Order.'

Blaise took a seat next to him, as was customary since they could not change their partners. Class started and the list of ingredients appeared on the board. Without a word, Draco rose to grab the ingredients from the cupboard. He had learned from the beginning of the week that Blaise no longer wanted to share in the responsibilities of potion-making, forcing Draco to get all the necessary ingredients and make the concoction himself.

'It's not like he did anything useful when he actually contributed,' thought Draco while searching through the newt tails and dried beetles. 'More often than not, he screwed it up.'

Finding everything he needed, Draco stood and turned to go back to his seat when he bumped into Hermione. Almost in slow motion, their eyes connected. Hers showed fear poorly concealed with apathy.

'Exactly what I predicted,' Draco thought smugly, struggling to keep the triumphant look off his face.

Since he had little else to do, Draco watched Hermione over the week; he was curious to see how she would react while what happened between them rested upon her mind. He saw her smile and laugh with her friends like normal. She studied and was the annoying, bushy-haired, know-it-all Mudblood that everyone was used to. But as her friends and her teachers turned their attention to other matters, Draco still watched. It was then that her true feelings showed.

Their contact was broken in a moment. Draco headed back to his seat where Blaise indifferently sat. He piled all the ingredients on the desk and was about to start chopping them when he noticed the fire under the cauldron was not lit.

Draco shot Blaise a look and shook his head, muttering the proper spell. What was supposed to be a small and controlled flame ignited into an incredible conflagration. A towering inferno of yellow and orange scorched the dungeon ceiling and lit up the dreary room with intense yellow light. Draco yelled in surprise and jumped backwards, but too late. The flames had already made their way onto his long robes, catching instantly. His body was soon engulfed in fire.

Draco's senses blurred into one. Instinct took over as he tried to rip off his robes. He could feel his skin redden, blister, and start to crisp. It was only a matter of time before it started falling off in great chunks onto the floor. He could hear Professor Slughorn's booming voice carry over the screams of his classmates, trying to at once call the class to order and figure out the cause. One voice then broke through all the rest.

"_Aguamenti!_"

Cool water doused his body, extinguishing the flames but not the hurt, which was nearly as bad as any Cruciatus Curse he had ever experienced. His vision started to fade to black as he dropped to the floor. He heard muffled voices floating above him, as if he was wearing a thick pair of earmuffs. "You…Hospital Wi …get him cleaned up…go…quickly, now!"

Draco felt himself being levitated and quickly navigated through the school corridors. He tried to talk, but his lips were seared together. All that he could manage was a soft groan.

"Shh," said a shaky female voice from his side. "Shh, don't speak. You're going to be okay. We're almost at the Hospital Wing. We're almost there."

Though his body had gone into shock and most of his thoughts were disconnected, he still managed to retain enough of himself to wonder what had happened. Who extinguished the fire? Was it the same person taking him to the Hospital Wing now? But more than that, he wanted to know why the fire had ignited as quickly as it did. Even in his semi-conscious state, he suspected foul-play. He moaned again, hoping for an answer to his unvocalized questions. All he got was shushed.

The next few minutes were spent in silence until Madame Pomfrey was reached. If he had been able to move his eyes, Draco could have winced at the sharpness of the woman's shriek; the MediWitch's voice pierced through his muffled hearing uncomfortably. With her high-pitched exclamation still ringing in his ears, Draco was floated over to a bed. He tried to talk again, earning nothing but a sharp pain in his arm. A moment later, his mind became comfortably fuzzy and his limbs completely numb. In an instant, he was unconscious.

XOX

Draco woke from a dreamless sleep in a panic. Where was he? How did he get there? Why couldn't he see? What was that prickling feeling on his chest? And why could he not move his arm to scratch at it? He tugged his right arm again but it moved barely an inch.

'What the hell is this?' Draco thought groggily, finally wrenching opening his eyes. Even that slight movement sapped most of his energy. His blurred vision was met with the familiar ceiling of the Hospital Wing. The room was faintly lit by moonlight streaming through the windows. Shadows shifted eerily and elongated. Everything was black and white. 'How long have I been out for?' Draco wondered. 'And why can't I move?'

"Shit," he said quietly. His head felt like it weighed twenty pounds as he lifted it up off the bed to get a look at his unmoving arms. They were secured to the bed with thick leather straps which looked like they had hardly been used. He shuddered and tugged against the strap. The leather did not budge.

"Hey," he said into the blackness. His voice was scratchy and raw. "Hey!" he repeated louder. He immediately wished he had not. The force put on his seared vocal chords made him want to cry out in pain. Draco stifled his cry and winced as his throat throbbed for a minute. It soon dissipated into a dull ache. "Is anyone there?" he said in no more than a harsh whisper.

He was met with a jarring silence. He waited tensely for a few minutes, straining to hear any sign of life within the empty room. Never had he known the Hospital Wing to be this empty. There was usually always _someone _there…

A modicum of worry wormed its way into his thoughts. 'Where the hell is Madame Promfrey?' he thought anxiously. 'I'm her bloody patient! Isn't she monitoring me or something? This is ridiculous.' He fumed silently for a minute, maliciously glaring at the ceiling.

His chest started to tingle again. Draco squirmed to make it go away. But this time, the feeling did not cease. Instead, it intensified and started to spread across his body. He squirmed in discomfort and lifted his head as much as he could.

That is when he saw them.

Bugs. Thousands, no _millions'_of them. Black and big, with sharp and maliciously pointed pinchers. Long and brown, with many legs and vicious, venomous fangs. Small, fast, and red, with claws as sharp as daggers. They seethed up from the edge of his sheet and, like settled over his entire body like a gigantic, moving blanket. They infested every cavity of his body, mouths working tirelessly at his skin, tearing miniscule chunks, ripping him apart a little at a time. Their spindly legs traveled up his neck to his face, burrowing into his ears, nose, and eyes. They ventured nearer to the corners of his mouth, on the brink of entering.

He shook his head, dislodging them for a moment. In that one moment of freedom, Draco's tenuous grip on rational thought disappeared. In its place, taking up the darkness, was the eerie specter of hallucination.

He was beyond panic. The white bed sheets twisted with his naked body, enveloping him like a shroud of the dead. His pale hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He was doused with moonlight, giving him the ethereal glow of a newly departed ghost. Draco screamed and begged for help.

"Get them off!" he yelled into the night, ignoring the blazing pain in his throat. "Get them off of me!" He writhed in place, twisting and contorting his body into impossible shapes despite his bonds. "Get them off! Help!" He screamed into the empty ward, a scream of raw and terrible fear that reverberated off the dark and cold stone walls. Terror mingled with grief as his yells turned to desperate moans. The unfeeling night gave him no leniency – Draco's only company were the pitiful echoes of his wracked voice and the demons of his mind.


	17. Ch 17: Hospital Visits

Author's Note: Hey all! There's some coarse language in this one, just as a warning. That's about it, I think! Enjoy and leave a review!

Hospital Visits

Somehow, Draco managed to get to sleep in the early morning hours while soft dawn light streamed in through the hospital windows. Sooner than he would have liked, Madame Pomfrey came bearing a simple breakfast of oatmeal and a beaker filled with some foul substance that he could smell from across the room. Draco suddenly lost his appetite, which had been quite sharp until then.

"Drink this," she said imperiously, shoving the cup against his lips and tilting. He barely had time to open his mouth when the simultaneously bitter and sour liquid came pouring out of the cup and onto his tongue. Unable to spit it out (she was holding his mouth tightly closed), he was forced to swallow the burning brew in one gulp. He sputtered and coughed as she took away her hand.

"I trust your night was difficult?" she said conversationally while removing the worn bonds from his arms. Draco turned his head towards her, intending to look her straight in the eye.

"_Difficult_?" he asked, his tone incredulous. "Where the bloody hell were you last night? I was…" Draco was about to say "eaten alive by insects", but refrained, knowing how mental he would sound. "…in intense amounts of pain," he finished lamely.

She gave him a skeptical look and undid the bonds from his legs as well. "What was it? Bats? Snakes? Spiders?"

"Bugs," he said in a small voice, mentally reliving the horror of the previous night.

"Ah, that's quite a popular one." She must have noticed the surprised expression on Draco's face because she said, "Don't think you're the only that's come in here with serious burns before. Hallucinations are a nasty after-effect of that particular healing potion. That's why you were strapped down. If you hadn't been, you may have torn your own skin off." She said the last with all seriousness. Draco believed her.

Finally, he was totally unbound. He sat up in bed and nearly cried out in pain.

"Not so quickly!" Pomfrey scolded him. "Your skin may be healed, but it will take at least one more night to repair the damage done to your tissues."

She must have seen the flicker of fear that ran across Draco's features because she said in an uncharacteristically comforting voice, "You will not have to drink anymore of the Burn-Away potion given to you last night."

Draco could have smiled, but he did not want to jinx his luck. Instead, he asked for the oatmeal and clumsily ate in silence, wrists red, raw, and stiff from the night before.

For the remainder of the day, Draco was confined to his bed. His body ached almost continuously and he felt dreadfully weak. His only entertainment was seeing the other patients nursing various injuries walk in and out of the hospital wing. One boy looked as if he had been on the receiving end of a misplaced Transfiguration charm. Another had nose hair growing down to his feet. A few students came in with gashes up and down their arms. 'No doubt thanks to that bloody hippogriff lesson,' Draco thought vindictively.

About mid-afternoon, a person Draco was not expecting to see walked into the ward.

"Granger. Come to visit me have you?" he said good-naturedly as she walked towards his bed.

Neither rising to his bait nor meeting his eyes, she dutifully placed her armful of books upon the nightstand next to his bed. "Here are your books. Your assignments are written on a piece of parchment inside the Potions text."

Draco looked at the stack of books and back to Hermione. "You came all the way up here to give me my homework?" he asked.

She shrugged. "McGonagall's orders."

Draco was slightly rebuffed by her blunt response. 'It's a ridiculous idea anyways,' he rationalized. 'Why would anyone want to visit me for pleasure?' But he wanted her to stay. 'After all,' he thought, 'this is the most I've spoken in a week. And I have questions…'

"Did you see what happened yesterday, Granger?"

He just caught the imperceptible change in her demeanor. Her eyes brightened and she sat up straighter, as if jolted by an electric current. "Yes," she said quietly.

"Who put me out?"

He saw her stiffen. "I-I didn't see," she stuttered.

Draco gave her an appraising look. After a moment, he said, "I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want," she snapped. "I don't know who extinguished the flames."

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "How about who took me here?" he persisted.

"How should I know?" she answered quickly.

Draco was frustrated now. "Well you were there, weren't you?" he asked her in an irritated voice. "How could you 'not' know? Did they not float me out of the room? Slughorn, he…"

"Everything was a mess in that room yesterday, Malfoy," she interrupted sharply. "Anyone could have put you out and brought you here! There was a pillar of fire up to the ceiling, Professor Slughorn had to sit down and a couple of the girls fainted. People were screaming and running out of the classroom…It was chaos."

This struck Draco. "It was that bad?" he asked quietly.

She looked at him with sad eyes. "You were totally engulfed in flames. And when they were put out…" Draco saw her shudder in remembrance. "It was terrible."

A weight settled upon Draco's heart. 'I came perilously close to dying yesterday,' he thought, amazed at his good fortune and his savior's quick thinking. 'If it hadn't been for the girl who put me out, I'd be dead.'

"I owe her my life," Draco said, thinking out-loud.

"What?" Hermione said, who was looking out the window in a daze.

"The girl who put me out…I owe her my life."

Hermione fidgeted in her seat and cleared the back of her throat. "I'm sure you would have done the same for her."

Draco almost scoffed at this remark when another question popped into his mind. He was surprised he had not asked it until now. "Why did that happen?"

He could tell Hermione's interest was piqued. "I don't know. What spell did you use?"

"The one we always use to light the cauldron fires. Did you look around the cauldron at all?"

"No," Hermione said, obviously puzzled now as well. "I didn't have time for an investigatory work. But why? Do you think something was put into the fire to make it explode?"

"A blaze like that shouldn't have happened with the normal spell, so it's more than likely that…" Realization hit him like a brick. "Zabini," he whispered. "Son of a bitch."

"What?" Hermione asked with a quizzical look.

"Nothing," Draco covered, not wanting her to know his suspicions. He continued on with his questions. "I assume Slughorn had the area thoroughly cleaned?"

"Yes," she replied. "Blaise volunteered." She furrowed her brow, a thought coming to her slowly. "For being one of your friends, he didn't seem too shaken when it happened…"

Draco did not realize he was sneering until Hermione questioned him. He shook off the inquiry. After a moment, she sighed. "I still have stuff to do, so I'm going now."

Draco nodded without looking at her. He was too absorbed in his own thoughts to much care about where she was going.

"Oh, by the way," she said when she was halfway to the door. "You've been made Quidditch Captain. Congratulations."

"Wait, what?" Draco said. He only heard the word "Quidditch"; the rest was just a mumble.

"I said you've been made Quidditch captain."

This bit of news made Draco quite happy. He wanted to jump around the room at the thought of Quidditch but, due to his sore muscles, had to be content with just smiling.

"Thanks, Granger," he said genuinely.

She gave him a half-hearted smile. Draco watched her exit the room, grinning like mad at the brilliant news.

Draco was in a pleasant mood for the rest of the day and much of the night. He was still feeling weak, but the prospect of Quidditch boosted his spirits and his energy. Later, Madame Pomfrey told him that when he woke the following morn, he would be able to leave without an issue. By the time she extinguished the lights (around midnight, to Draco's reckoning), he was only beginning to feel tired.

He leaned back against the plush pillows, folding his hands behind his head. He thought of his broomstick: the warm and worn wood against his fingers, the rush of wind in his hair, the thrill of a dive, the exhilaration of catching the Snitch…Just the mere thought of the stomach-dropping antics he could pull in the air was enough to give him a rush of adrenaline.

"All I really need is Quidditch," he said complacently. "Fuck the Slytherins."

A meaty and sweaty hand then clamped over his mouth. Before Draco could think to move, his arms were pinioned to his mattress. He struggled against the brutes, running out of energy faster than he would have liked.

"Are you sure you want to give up on us quite yet, Malfoy?" came a deep and sinister voice from the dark. "_Lumos_."

Wandlight illuminated the bedside scene, where Draco was easily held captive by Crabbe and Goyle. Blaise stood next to the bed, a cruel smile playing on his lips. The shadows thrown on his countenance made him seem like a demon from the lowest pits of hell, sent on a mission to make miserable all he encountered. Draco did not doubt that Blaise would relish the task.

He yanked his head out from the big hand. "Zabini," he hissed. "You're the one who made the fire explode like that."

He inclined his head in a mock bow. "Who else?"

"And now you're attacking me while I'm in the hospital wing." Draco sneered. "You're a bloody coward, Zabini. You always have been." He was still now, resigned to his fate even though he wanted to launch himself at Blaise and finish what he started in the Great Hall.

"Temper, temper, Draco. You wouldn't want to lose your position as Head Boy, now would you?"

"If it meant taking you out, I'd give up anything."

Blaise chuckled. "That's quite a threat from someone so incapacitated. We don't deserve that kind of treatment, do we?"

Crabbe and Goyle laughed stupidly, but did not miss the hint. Without having to be told again, their fists flew into Draco's stomach, arms, legs, face, head…wherever they could land. Too weak to defend himself, Draco had no choice but to take the beating and try not to scream. After what seemed like hours of physical abuse, Blaise's imperious voice sounded out over Draco's heavy grunts.

The two goons stopped the beating immediately. They stepped away from Draco like two panting dogs being called off the attack. Blaise then stepped forward, admiring their handiwork.

"We know you're the Quidditch team captain and we'll respect you then, but only then. When your feet are on the ground, _you're ours_. Let this be a lesson to you, Malfoy," Blaise spoke, leaning in close to Draco's bloodied face. "_Don't _fuck with us."

He then muttered the same spell Draco himself used to clear up Hermione's bruises. Draco felt the blood on his face disappear, as did the swelling and cuts. No evidence of their brutality was left upon his face; if he told anyone about this nighttime visit, he was sure to be ignored. The three boys silently made their way out the ward, leaving Draco to his misery.

XOX

"Get up, get up!" said Madame Pomfrey. Her bony fingers prodded into Draco's sore arm. Pain shot through his muscles. He grimaced and hissed sharply. No longer even slightly asleep, he opened his eyes to the mediwitch's puzzled expression.

"You can go now," she said, her gaze critical and searching.

"Thanks," Draco wheezed as he urged his screaming body into a sitting position. The first step he took from the bed almost resulted in him falling to the floor. He steadied himself on his nightstand, remembering that he also had to bring his books back. The textbooks in his arms felt like lead bricks and his arms shook with exertion after just a minute of holding them aloft.

"Are you feeling alright?" Madame Pomfrey asked to his back.

"Yes," he said, trying to cover up the waver in his voice. "I'm fine."

He walked out of the hospital wing as quickly as he could. He was but five steps from the door when he leaned against the wall for a rest. His chest was heaving and sweat had started to bead upon his back and forehead.

'How am I ever going to make it?'

Draco was unable to answer this question, for he remembered not the journey from the hospital wing to the Head's portrait hole. It was a plodding, draining trip, involving him simply placing one foot in front of the other and taking frequent rests upon the cold stone.

He did not hear the words of the portrait, but it swung open without a password. Draco struggled to lift his legs over the threshold. The portrait swung shut with a click and he closed his eyes.

"Malfoy?"

He opened them again to see Hermione scrambling upright on the couch, staring at him intently. A black fog closed in around her and she became dimmer and dimmer by the second. Before he knew what was happening, his knees buckled and his books slid out of his hands.


	18. Ch 18: Damage Control

Author's Note: Hey all! Sorry this took me a bit longer than normal to get out...School started back up and I've been simply swamped with reading and homework and whatnot. But it's out now, so read, review, and enjoy!

Damage Control

Hermione watched wide-eyed as the books fell out of Draco's hands and he tumbled to the floor.

"Malfoy!"

She rushed to his side, immediately shoving the fallen books to the side and untangling his limp limbs. She knelt beside his prone form, her eyes searching his body. Although Draco suffered no physical marks, Hermione could tell that something was not right. He was paler than usual and his skin was coated with a thin sheen of sweat. His breathing was heavy as well. She swept back his hair and put her hand on his forehead; it was quite hot.

"_Accio _pillow." A cushion flew over to her and she caught it deftly. Hermione slipped it under Draco's head and conjured a bowl and a rag. She wet the rag with cool water and dabbed at his forehead.

He flinched at the cold touch, but remained unconscious. 'Wake up,' Hermione willed him. She wanted to know what was wrong. For a few more minutes, she wiped his face with the cool cloth, then rested it upon his forehead, which was still burning from exertion or fever.

Waiting for him to wake, she leaned against the couch. 'This doesn't make any sense. He was doing fine when I brought him his homework yesterday. A little weak, perhaps, but fine otherwise.' She narrowed her eyes in thought, training her eyes upon him but not really seeing. 'Did Madam Pomfrey give him some sort of potion before he left? Why the devil did she let him go?'

Scenarios played through Hermione's mind and she did not even notice Draco start to wake up until he groaned audibly.

"Malfoy," she said quietly, pushing herself away from the couch to hover over him. "Are you alright?"

"How the hell do you think I am, Granger?" he asked.

'Only half-conscious and he still manages to be a prick.' She rolled her eyes but otherwise ignored his sarcasm.

"What happened?"

She saw him redden slightly. "Nothing," he said testily. He looked at her with fierce eyes, as if his gaze could prove his point.

"Of course," Hermione said sarcastically. "Nothing. Because nothing so often makes people collapse. Did Pomfrey give you some kind of medication or…"

"Pomfrey didn't do anything," Draco responded, pushing his way up off the floor. Hermione leaned back to get out of his way unnecessarily: he almost immediately fell back down onto the pillow. He groaned in pain, earning a look from Hermione.

"Fine, don't tell me what's wrong. But at least let me help you to your room."

"I don't need your help," he wheezed from the floor. "I can make it on my own." He tried to get up on his own again and, like Hermione expected, failed.

"Malfoy, don't be ridiculous. You can't even sit up. How do you expect to get up the stairs and to your room?"

"I'll think of something."

"Stop being so stubborn! Just let me help you," she pleaded in a frustrated tone.

"Why do you care?" he said, giving her an accusing stare.

"Because I'll feel incredibly guilty if I just leave you lying helpless on the floor," she said giving him a pointed look.

XOX

The similarity of Draco's situation to the one Hermione was in earlier hit him like a brick. Here they were: he almost unconscious and unable to move and her with a choice to leave or help him. The difference was Hermione was more than willing to do the right thing. In fact, it was her first choice. He sighed heavily and looked up into her deep brown eyes.

"You are to tell no one of this," he said in what he hoped was a commanding voice. "Not a soul. Do you understand me?"

Hermione just rolled her eyes – not quite the reaction Draco was hoping for. "Yes, I promise. Now come on."

To Draco, who was still extremely light-headed, Hermione's hands were everywhere. They were touching his back and chest, helping him into a sitting position. They were under his arms and around his torso as she stood him up. Her shoulders were the perfect height for him to lean on while she walked him up the stairs.

Their progress was slow due to Draco's need for frequent stops. Whenever Draco's breath started to labor or his limbs started to shake, she would stop and lean him against a wall. Each time, he could feel her concerned eyes upon him, but he could never meet her gaze.

'And admit that she was right?' If it did not hurt so much, he would have laughed at the thought.

About ten minutes after they had started, Hermione and Draco reached his door.

"Alright, Granger. I can take it from here," he said through shallow breaths.

"Nice try," she said without sparing him a look. He wanted to argue, but knew that it was useless: they were already three steps into his room.

She led him to the bed and single-handedly maneuvered the blankets down from the pillows. Gently lowering him down onto the mattress, she half-knelt before him, looking up into his eyes.

"Is there anything you need right now? Anything I can get for you?"

He shook his head tiredly, too exhausted to give much notice to her odd request.

Hermione nodded and stood up. "Feel better," she said as a farewell. Draco nodded as she quietly left the room and shut the door. With his eyes half-closed, his fingers stumbled over the buttons of his shirt and the fly of his pants. He had barely stripped out clothes when his body gave out. He flopped down onto the mattress and pulled the blankets up. Within seconds, he was in a blissful state of unconsciousness.

XOX

Later that evening, Hermione leaned against her door and sighed. "I wish he had told me what was wrong," she lamented while walking to her bathroom. "Maybe I would have been able to help him more."

She paused while brushing her teeth. "He wouldn't have _let _me help him more," she said with a mouth full of toothpaste. "Why do I want to help anyways?"

_Because you feel bad for him_, came the voice of the devil's advocate from the back of her mind.

"Fine, I feel bad for him. That's no crime." She rinsed her mouth with cool water and spat into the sink.

_But why feel bad in the first place? Has he ever done anything nice or compassionate for you?_

"That's not the point," she argued while using her peach facial scrub. "Like the Muggle cliché: two wrongs don't make a right. I should try and help him anyways. It simply proves that I'm the better person. And he realizes that. I can tell."

This last bit of logic shut that part of her mind up. She smiled at the silly victory and hopped into her bed, where Crookshanks was already waiting.

"I just hope he does better tomorrow, Crookshanks," she said while cradling the orange ball of fur in her lap. "He doesn't look it, but Malfoy is quite heavy to lug all the way up the stairs."

Her cat looked at her with great yellow eyes and let out a confused meow. Hermione giggled and turned out the light. In a few minutes, she was asleep, but not before thinking about Draco and the mystery surrounding his condition.

XOX

Draco woke up in a haze. He looked at his alarm clock, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

'Noon,' his brain registered. 'I should probably get up. There's work to be done, after all.'

His muscles screamed as Draco forced himself to sit. He winced at the soreness, but knew that once he got in the shower, he would feel loads better.

Draco was not disappointed. Steam from the almost-scalding water soon fogged up the entire bathroom. The hot rivulets ran over his shoulders and back, loosening his muscles to the point of total relaxation. He sat down in the black onyx tub, more than content to let the water soak into his skin and work the aches out of his body. He stretched his arms, legs, and back, satisfactorily cracking his joints and loving each and every pop.

More than half an hour later, Draco emerged from the tub, sufficiently wrinkled but much less stiff. A few readily-available pain potions later and Draco was good as new, or so he thought. Going down the stairs to the common room, Draco clutched the banister, not trusting himself to walk down without falling. His legs shook when he reached the bottom. Apparently the potions only worked to alleviate pain, not the cause. He sat on the couch, where he saw his books heaped on the table in front of him.

'I suppose I should get to work,' he thought, lifting open the potions text. He read the mercifully short list of assignments, hoping he could finish them within a few hours so he could go back to sleep. He had just retrieved a quill and parchment for his Potion's assignment when he heard Hermione's voice float down from the bottom of the stairs.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

Draco did not look up at her from his position on the couch. "I'm fine," he said shortly.

He shivered at the feeling of her eyes on his back. Knowing that she had seen him in a moment of weakness disgusted him.

"Do you need any help on your homework?"

Draco's anger suddenly flared. "Why the hell do you keep asking if I need help?" he yelled, throwing down his quill and standing up. "I'm perfectly capable of doing things for myself!"

"I never said you weren't!" countered Hermione. "It's just that I did the Potions work yesterday and it was difficult and I thought that if you were still feeling ill then you might want some help! But forget it. You're obviously well enough to argue so you should be more than fine to do homework on your own." She stalked to the portrait hole without sparing him a glance. "By the way," she said with anger in her voice, "if you snap your fingers, a House Elf will appear and give you breakfast."

Draco knew that, if it was possible to do so without disturbing the inhabitant, Hermione would have slammed the portrait shut. But she closed it instead with a dissatisfying click. Draco glared out after her, noting two rolls of parchment clenched in her hands.

He sneered and snapped for a House Elf. Just as Hermione had said, one Apparated, ready to take Draco's food order. A few minutes later, his breakfast was in front of him, as was the Potions essay which, again, as Hermione had promised, was more difficult than anticipated.

He decided he would do the essay later and headed up to his room with his breakfast, settling to business in front of his fireplace.

XOX

Hermione walked to the Owlery, clutching two scrolls of parchment – one to Harry, the other to Channing. So far, she had broken her word to neither of them.

'Well, not technically, anyways.'

She wrote to Harry every week and was always careful to omit the parts that Hermione was sure he would be the most eager to hear. But how could she tell Harry that Draco knocked her unconscious within their first month? Especially when he was supposed to be searching for the Horcruxes. No, Hermione could not do that to him.

'He already has so much on his mind,' she thought. 'It wouldn't be fair to make him worry about me when he has battling Voldemort to look forward to...'

So instead she gave him flowery reports of Transfigurations, commented on the difficulty of N.E.W.T. level Potions, raved about the wonderful Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and did not even bother mentioning the difficult class of Arithmacy. She knew he would not be totally satisfied with her news, but she forced herself to be content with her small act of duplicity.

Her second letter to Channing, though, was completely honest. Draco nearly being cooked to death in Potions turned out to be a mixed blessing. On the one hand, his health was added to her list of concerns. 'As if it wasn't long enough already without him on it…' she thought wryly. But his mishap also gave her an opportunity to go through his room. She carefully rifled through his drawers, his closet, and his trunk. She even checked underneath his mattress and found nothing. No doubt Channing would be equally disappointed in her letter as Harry, but she made it clear, several times, that she had been completely thorough.

'He'll understand,' Hermione hoped. While Channing seemed like a nice enough man, he also seemed dangerous. He was altogether too cool and collected. Hermione wondered what kinds of emotions he kept hidden beneath his unassuming exterior. She was not entirely sure she trusted him.

"But if he's good enough for Moody, he should be good enough for me as well," she said, tying his letter onto the foot of a school owl. She looked up, trying to spot her barn owl, Amaris. It was near the top of the tower that Hermione saw the small white and tan bundle of feathers nestled next to a large, familiar eagle owl.

"Amaris," she called. Her owl remained sleeping. The eagle owl, however, looked at Hermione and shuffled nearer to Amaris, jostling her with his body. This was all the urging she needed. The owl poked her head out from under her wing and looked around sleepily.

"A-mar-is," Hermione sing-songed. The barn owl took off from her perch at once and landed on Hermione's outstretched arm, with what Hermione thought was a somewhat embarrassed expression for an owl.

Hermione smiled and lovingly stroked the owl's head. "Take this to Harry," she said. "And be careful."

Amaris hooted, alighted from Hermione's arm, and swooped majestically out the window. Hermione sighed as her owl flew off into the distance. She turned to leave when she heard a forceful hoot from behind her. The eagle owl that had woken Amaris had descended to a low perch and was looking expectantly at Hermione.

She was puzzled for a moment; she had never seen an owl act like that before. "Um, thank you?" she said in a confused voice.

The owl bobbed its head a few times and took off, obviously content with Hermione's reply. She shook her head at the peculiar behavior as she walked out of the Owlery.

XOX

The warm glow of the fireplace was the only source of light in the dark room. It landed lightly on a tall, thin, and pale figure sitting proudly in a high, red, wing-backed chair. Once it touched his cold skin however, the light and warmth died out forever, disappearing into nothingness, unable to exist upon such a harsh landscape.

"Well?" came the high-pitched voice from the man in the chair.

"I'm doing all that I can, my Lord, but she has not given me anything to work with as of yet."

The man hissed in anger. "Consider yourself lucky that you are not in my presence," he threatened ominously. The figure in the fire visibly gulped, obviously doing exactly as the Dark Lord suggested. He was about to speak further when Voldemort continued.

"She does not trust you. Have you been doing everything in your power, like I asked?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"_Lies_," he wheezed harshly. "You lie to my face!"

"My Lord, please. I – I'm trying…"

"Silence! I have no desire to hear your pathetic excuses. You must go deeper. Become her friend, her ally, her confidante! Become her most trusted and get me my information!"

"Yes, my Lord," the figure said submissively.

"Leave now. Your very presence disgusts me."

The figure disappeared in a flurry of ashes, leaving Voldemort alone and pensive in his chair.


	19. Ch 19: Ambush

Ambush

A few days after she sent her letter to Harry and Channing, she received responses from each. Harry's letter was simple. As always, it told her that he dare not go into detail about his mission to find the Horcruxes, but progress was being made. He reminded her to take care and warned her once more about how dangerous Draco was.

'As if I don't know that already,' she thought, rolling her eyes over a sip of pumpkin juice.

She opened Channing's letter next, eyes growing wide as she read his perfect block letters.

**Hermione – I thank you for the work you have done thus far. Although you have not found anything yet, I am confident that you will be able to do so soon. I was wondering if you would consent to visit me during your Hogsmeade trip: purely a business meeting to discuss your mission. By that time, I will have thought about the matter more thoroughly and will have some ideas for you. What do you say to Madame Puddifoot's around one? Send an owl with your response. Best wishes – Channing Orman**

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Channing's odd request. 'Madame Puddifoot's? Of all places!'

Despite her misgivings, Hermione scribbled a quick response on the back of the parchment and tied it to the leg of the screech owl, who took off in a flurry of feathers. She must have still had looked puzzled because Ron threw a bit of biscuit at her from across the table.

"Y de omm fay, 'Erminy?" he asked through an enormous bite of sausage.

Years of practice made deciphering Ron's speech easy. Nevertheless, she gave him an annoyed look and brushed the biscuit crumbs off her robes with a distasteful look. "No reason, just thinking."

He looked at her shrewdly, then shrugged, helping himself to a forkful of eggs. Hermione was happy he let the subject drop; she was not sure how Ron would take the news that Channing wanted to meet her at Madame Puddifoot's...

Unfortunately, she was not spared that question for long. She and Ron were off to Charms when he struck up conversation. "So about Hogsmeade this weekend. Luna wants to meet us at the Shrieking Shack around noon. Something about finding a Yarsarat habitat…" Hermione gave him an odd look – she had never heard of a Yarsarat before. Ron simply shrugged. "It's Luna," he said as an explanation. Hermione nodded obligingly and let Ron continue. "Anyways, I was thinking we can head off to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer when Luna finally gets too mental and perhaps Zonko's after that. And there's this new-"

Hermione cut him off. "I would love to, Ron, but I have to patrol." Inwardly, she grimaced; Hermione had never been that good of a liar, and didn't like doing it, especially to Ron. Yet she persisted. "You know, extra security and all that…" It may not be exactly the truth, but it was adequate enough. Ron somehow mustered enough grace to look disappointed.

"Alright then, I suppose I'll see you there."

"Most likely," Hermione said. 'But hopefully not with Channing,' she added silently. 'That is one argument I do _not_ want to have.'

XOX

The next few days were terrible for Draco. Pressure from seemingly a million sources pressed down on his head, pushing him almost to a breaking point. He had to endure Hermione's vigilant stares and her flinching whenever he moved too fast around her. Zabini was still his Potions partner, so he worried about being blown to bits every class. Random groups of Slytherins attempted to ambush him in the halls, but he was able to stave off his attackers with detentions and House point deductions. He had Potions' essays to complete, charms to memorize, and his Animagi transfigurations to practice. It was all becoming incredibly tedious incredibly fast. The only things he looked forward to were Quidditch practice, and Hogsmeade that Saturday.

Time seemed to go in reverse during his classes. He nearly tore his hair out in frustration during Transfigurations, his last class of the day. Since becoming an Animagi was an extremely high level of difficulty, McGonagall took a very active role in their education. She paired everyone up to practice proper pronunciation, which she used as a preliminary evaluation technique: those who seemed to grasp the concepts easily would be allowed to continue working on the non-verbal technique as separate project. Those who did not would simply follow the course syllabus. Of course, Hermione was Draco's partner. She kept scolding his lack of concentration as he stared raptly at the clock.

"Five more minutes," he whispered. He glanced at Hermione, who was glaring at him with crossed arms. Draco wanted to be the first one out onto the pitch. That would allow him at least a few minutes of solitude. He looked at the clock again. "Four and a half more minutes."

He accomplished noting else. McGonagall allowed them to continue the process, but it came as no surprise that she assigned them extra practice. He made his way quickly to the door, bypassing Hermione, who had her mouth open to spew some sort of aggravated insult his way. Whether she said anything or not was beyond Draco, however, as he zipped away through the corridors to the Quidditch pitch. He disappeared into the dressing room, changed into his Quidditch robes in a frenzy, summoned his broom, and zoomed into the air all in a matter of about two minutes.

A rush of cool wind whipped Draco's face, making his heart rise in his chest. He let out a whoop and leaned down onto the sleek wooden handle, accelerating until the empty stadium seats were nothing but a blur of brown. After completing a few laps, Draco worked on his formations. He pulled up from a speedy ninety degree dive mere inches from the ground. He looped and twirled through the air, going higher and higher until he started to black out from the lack of oxygen. He relished every moment he spent under the cloudless blue sky of early autumn.

His joy only lasted for a few more minutes, though, as he saw six green-clad figures clutching brooms enter the field. His heart dropped with his height as he landed gently on the ground before his team of malcontents. Draco ignored their grimaces and launched into his pre-season speech.

"First," he said in an unforgiving tone, "I don't care what happens during class, but you had all better leave your attitudes in the locker room. I will not tolerate inter-member violence of any sort while on this pitch, else you'll be out faster than you can say Snitch. Am I understood?"

His eyes were cold and hard as steel as he looked each and every one of his teammates in the eyes. In some, he saw utter compliance. In others, reluctant acceptance. But no eyes held defiance, for which Draco was grateful. He continued.

"We actually have a chance of winning this year. Potter isn't here to keep his team alive and we know that both Weasleys can easily be outdone on a broomstick. Gryffindor is no longer our biggest opponent. If we can stay strong and compete _as a team_, I have no doubt that we will raise the Quidditch Cup."

He spoke with such emotion and sincerity that he was not surprised to see the eyes of his teammates glitter with anticipation. He knew they were inspired, which was what he needed.

"Let's get in the air, then!"

The team almost simultaneously leapt onto their brooms. Draco directed the practice from on high, showing no mercy. He ran formation after formation until they got it right and individually helped those that needed it. He drilled them harder than he ever had and after four hours of practice, when the sun was starting to set in the sky, he dismissed them.

They landed in good spirits and trailed off to the locker room happily chatting. Draco hung back, watching the shrinking backs of his teammates. He stood at the center of the pitch and looked up. He smiled at everything he saw: the three Quidditch hoops, the tall wooden stands, the outline of the Forbidden Forest, the shadowy stone of the castle, and in the distance, the subtle shine of the lake.

'I love it here,' he sighed.

Thinking it was safe, he walked to the locker room. He stored his robes and locked his broom in the cupboard. While turning and walking back towards the school, Draco spotted a figure moving towards him. He reached for his wand, but it flew out of his pocket as soon as he lowered his hand.

'Shite,' Draco thought, jaw clenched tightly, 'not again.'

Blaise appeared out of the semi-darkness, his blue eyes dark with foreboding.

"Zabini," Draco said smoothly. "Did you enjoy practice this evening?"

"Keep the emotions off the pitch, you said. If I had it my way, I would have killed you in the air."

Draco arched a brow. "You'd think almost doing me in during Potions would be enough for you…

He chuckled darkly. "I'm not so easily satisfied."

"Obviously," Draco said. He looked up at the setting sun, bored of the conversation. He knew where his next remark would lead, but felt compelled to speak anyways. The sooner they finished their little farce, the sooner he could go to bed. "You know I can take you," he said with a sigh.

Blaise ignored his practiced tone. He snapped his fingers and, like dogs, Crabbe and Goyle appeared, cutting off Draco's exits.

"Three against one? And you beating me?"

Blaise smiled evilly, flashing each one of his shiny white teeth. "I like my odds."

Before Draco had the chance to run, Crabbe and Goyle seized his arms, pinning him between their hulking bodies. He struggled valiantly against them. His foot landed hard on Crabbe's, whose hold loosened for a moment. Draco seized the opportunity. His fist collided sharply with Crabbe's jaw, sending the large boy reeling backwards. Just as Draco's arm was swinging towards Goyle, a jet of purple light arced from Blaise's wand. A magnificent gash appeared across Draco's chest; it bled heavily. This was just the advantage Crabbe needed to grab hold of Draco once more. Blaise laughed meanly as Draco's struggling tapered off.

"Give it up, Malfoy." He cracked his knuckles then laid into Draco. His newly healed body jerked under Blaise's harsh blows. His stomach was in agony, as was his face. Sharp fists pummeled his head. Stars danced in front of his eyes and blood ran down his throat and out of his mouth.

Blaise paused for a moment. Draco spat out a great gob of blood at his well-polished shoes. "Not very creative, are you?" he taunted in a rasping voice. Undoubtedly, he was only making the situation worse, but Draco found himself unable to stop. His left eye had swollen so much that he could barely open it, but he glared at Blaise nonetheless. "Will you ever tire of this stupidity?"

Blaise lifted his head proudly into the air and looked down his nose into Draco's dulling grey eyes. "No," he answered simply. With one more blow to Draco's stomach, Blaise signaled Crabbe and Goyle to leave. They dropped him to the ground and threw his wand near his head. They walked away without a backwards look, leaving him bloodied and broken on the cool grass of the grounds.

XOX

Hermione looked up from her book. 'Something's wrong.' She looked about the room for anything out of place. But nothing had changed. She did not know what gave her this feeling, but it was there and it was persistent, like a fly at a picnic. Maybe the fire stopped cackling for a moment. Maybe the clock missed a beat. Maybe her heart did. Whatever the reason, unease filled her mind. She was soon unable to concentrate.

She rose from her chair and took a turn about the room. Assuring herself that nothing was out of place, she was about to sit down again when a silvery beast burst silently through the wall. Hermione screamed and drew her wand. She was about to launch one million different spells when she realized just what the silver form was – a Patronus.

"A dragon," Hermione whispered, staring up in awe at the hovering winged creature. It was a ferocious beast, with long, sharp spines all down its back. It looked at her steadily with intelligent yet blank eyes. The dragon opened its jaws as if to roar, exposing every one of its two inch long fangs. But instead of a deafening yell came a noise so soft Hermione wasn't even sure she heard anything at all.

"Help." The plea was simple, but effective. Energy coursed through her body, but Hermione stood rooted to the spot. She wanted to move, to run to him, but her feet would not obey her brain.

The supplication came again, fainter now. "Help." His voice was so weak…

The opaque dragon regarded her once more, then drifted towards the window. The threat of the dragon's absence woke Hermione from her frozen stupor.

"Wait," she yelled to the dragon. It did not slow. "Wait! Wait! Where is he?" Her voice was panicked and her steps were urgent. She followed the dragon to the window, where it diffused easily through the wall. She screamed in frustration and hit the stone half-heartedly, but kept her eyes trained on the barely visible beast. It floated across the grounds to a place near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. There, it disappeared in a wisp of smoke.

Hermione barely had time to see the silver smoke waft off in the breeze. She dashed around the common room, slipping on her shoes and cloak, grabbing her wand and an emergency medical kit that she had bought on a whim in Diagon Alley. She flew out of her dormitory and sped as quietly as she could to the exit. Even though she was a Head, she could still be penalized for being outside the castle after dark. She ducked behind a pillar to avoid Filch and continued once she was in the clear.

Once she was out of the castle doors, Hermione slowed.

'I have to get my bearings straight. I saw the Patronus disappear in…that direction,' she thought, turning her body towards the looming forest. The sun was almost fully set. Darkness impeded the eastern sky. Hermione shivered at the creepy setting.

She set her chin determinately and hurried towards the woods, hiding the small bit of fear that had wormed its way into her chest. The walk felt like a mile. She neared the edge of the forest and looked into the gloomy trees.

'The Patronus didn't disappear into the woods, did it?' She strained her mind to remember, but in her haste, could not recall the exact area. Trepidation filled her. She took a deep, shaky breath and was about to step into the dangerous wood when something caught her attention: a soft groan from her left side.

Hermione pulled her wand and whipped around, ready to face her attacker. Nothingness met her eyes. The groan sounded again, like it was coming from the ground. She looked and there he was, lying facedown before her.

"Malfoy!" she said, surprised beyond belief. She rushed to his side and turned him onto his back. He was a mess. His face was bruised and bloodied almost beyond recognition. Dirt mingled with the blood and matted his hair. Tears filled her eyes at the pathetic sight.

She touched his arm gently and spoke to him in a reassuring tone. "I'm here." He opened his eyes wearily; the usual alacrity they held was gone, replaced by a glazed and pained expression. "I'm going to fix you up, okay?" She tried to keep her voice from shaking, but was sure her attempt was unsuccessful.

She opened the medical pack and got to work. She siphoned the blood and dirt from his face and applied a healing salve. She gave him a potion for the pain and bandaged the cuts that she could. She saw the large amount of crimson blood on his chest and hesitantly lifted his shirt. A two-inch thick gash ran across his chest, from shoulder to hip; Hermione had to stifle a terrified gasp. The medical pack was for dealing with small wounds…nothing like what Draco had sustained. Unsure of what to do, Hermione conjured some gauze and wrapped his chest as best she could. Madam Pomfrey would be able to deal with this better than she would.

The sun disappeared by the time the majority of his wounds were healed. The forest was dark as pitch and the leaves were rustled by some creature with intentions unknown.

She glanced uneasily at the swaying trees. "Malfoy," she said quietly, trying to rouse him. "Malfoy, we need to go now, okay? I need to take you to the hospital wing."

He opened his eyes properly for the first time since she arrived. "No," he said, voiced cracked and strained. "No hospital."

"Now isn't the time to argue. Your chest is torn open and you're bleeding like mad. I can't deal with this kind of injury – I need to get you to Madam Pomfrey."

"_No_!" he said. His voice regained little of its strength but his look was so fierce Hermione quailed just a little. "No hospital," he said through clenched teeth.

The shaking in the Forbidden Forest increased and several inhuman clicks rose loudly from the wood. Whatever was in there had smelled Draco's blood. Hermione looked from the forest to Draco.

"No hospital," Hermione said finally, panic lacing her unsteady voice. "No Pomfrey. Fine. But please, we have to go." A hairy leg, jointed protruded from the copse out of Hermione's peripheral vision; her brown eyes widened in fear: acromantulas. "_Now_," she intoned fiercely.

Draco, whose attention was on the extended leg, grunted in acquiescence and allowed himself to be hoisted off the ground. His chest ripped open once more; blood dripped out steadily, dotting the dark green grass like gruesome paint. Like before, he slung an arm around Hermione's shoulders while she gingerly supported his chest. She hurried him away from the forest, perhaps not a moment too soon. Together, they made their way awkwardly to the castle. After an interminable walk and Helga opening the portrait for them without a password, Hermione deposited Draco onto the couch.

Completely worn out, Draco's eyes closed and his breathing steadied; it looked as if he had fallen asleep. Hermione stood over him, concern etched across her features.

"Why does this keep happening to you?"


	20. Ch 20: Subtle Changes

Subtle Changes

True, Draco had been in worse amounts of pain: he had suffered the worst Cruciatus Curses that the Dark Lord could give and his father was…well, his father. But as he lay prone on the couch, straddling the fuzzy border of consciousness, he experienced anguish worse than anything before: humiliation. Absolute and total humiliation. Not only was he being nursed back to health by someone with inferior blood, but he had purposely alienated his friends, if ever he had such luxuries from the start. Even Quidditch, his only escape, would now be tainted with the threat of what may await him beyond the pitch.

Draco thought all these things with eyes closed against the soft light of the common room. As the thoughts whipped through his head, they ripped through his heart. His eyes suddenly prickled with uncomfortable warmth. Opening them to prevent the strange feeling, he saw Hermione. She was sitting crossed-legged on the coffee table. A medical book sat open in her lap. Her wand lay to one side of her. A mess of bloodied gauze was piled on the other. But instead of reading, she was staring at him intently.

He painfully squirmed into a sitting position. His chest felt tight: the gash which had marred his toned torso was now a thick, pink scar. Looking up from the wound, he locked eyes with her, becoming extremely self-conscious under her pitying gaze. Her brown eyes were warm and deep, coursing with a symphony of emotions, most of which were completely foreign.

'I deserve this,' Draco thought with certainty as he looked at the girl whose life he had deliberately made a living hell for the past seven years. 'I deserve all of it.'

Hermione's voice broke the silence. It was tentative, unsure. "I tried as best I could to close it cleanly, but I've never healed anything that deep before…" She looked completely distraught, brown eyes welling with tears. "I'm so sorry about the scar," she whispered sincerely.

The uncomfortable prickling suddenly returned with a vengeance. A bitter tear fell from his eye and trailed down his smooth, white cheek. Mouth determinately impassive, he turned his head away from Hermione, loathe to have her witness _this_ as well.

He heard movement from the table and felt Hermione's presence immediately to his right; she knelt on the floor next to him.

"Draco," she said quietly. Her hand alighted upon his arm with utmost care. The warmth of her touch made him shudder. She said his name softly again, barely a breath upon her lips. Reluctantly, he met her eyes. Then, without warning, she rested her head upon his arm, turning so that she could look into his eyes.

Draco froze for a moment, his entire body seizing up. Slowly, ignoring the stiffness that pervaded his limbs, he cradled her head with his other arm. He leaned back against the cushions and took a deep breath, feeling her body move with his. He closed his eyes and played with her hair, lightly twining the soft brown strands around his fingers. For some reason, holding her like that felt incredibly natural. And as unusual and uncharacteristic as it was, as strange and contradictory to everything he had ever learned, everything he had ever felt before, Draco did not want it to end.

XOX

Hermione did not know what spirit possessed her to take residence on Draco's arm, but she did not regret its appearance. He looked so utterly pitiful. His steel eyes, usually as unexpressive as the metal they embodied, were intense. Then, when he looked away to hide his tears…Her heart shredded into bits. And now, as she comforted the boy she had always hated, Hermione felt something different. For the first time in her life, she felt compassion towards him.

'He always seemed so strong,' she thought. Her gaze remained locked on his stubbornly impassive face, belayed only by the single tear which escaped those jailing eyes. 'But there's a side to him that I've missed…That we've all missed…' Hermione was finally able to put herself in his shoes: she did not like what she saw. Her eyes filled with sorrow once more as she thought of all the horrors he must have experienced. 'And whatever happened today isn't making it any better,' she thought.

They stayed like that for a bit longer, silent except for the crackling fire. Then Hermione felt him sigh. He stopped playing with her hair and scooted himself up. But instead of giving away some kind of softer emotion, or even a thank you, he glared at her. With a venom-laced voice, he spoke. "This changes nothing, Granger. _Nothing_."

Hermione was taken aback. But instead of inciting an argument, she bit back a snappish retort, took a deep breath, and nodded mutely. He continued. "If anyone ever finds out about this, I will kill you."

She struggled to keep her face impassive. Although the threat was delivered with unmistakable intentions – intimidation, obviously – the reason behind it was much more subtle: Draco was desperately trying to recover some of his lost pride. And so it was not fear Hermione was trying to hide from her eyes, but instead pity, which would only make him feel worse.

"I won't tell anyone," she said softly. "I promise."

"Good. Now move it."

She stood as he tried to lift himself up from the couch. "Here," she said, reaching towards him. "Let me hel-"

"No!" he barked. "Get away from me." He brandished his arm at her, effectively batting hers away.

She let the pain register on her face for only a moment, then covered it with a mask of pride. The atmosphere of the room changed palpably. "Fine," Hermione said, walking away. "I'll just grab a few extra blankets and your pillow."

Draco, who was still working on standing, looked up at her. "What?"

Hermione, who was already halfway up the stairs, rolled her eyes. "You're '_obviously'_ not going anywhere tonight, Malfoy. You can hardly stand. You'll just end up ripping yourself open again and I don't want blood on the carpets."

He opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off. "Don't bother arguing. You know as well as I do that it's the truth. Now shut up and lie down. I'll be right back." Hermione could tell he was about to refuse. "Although," she said slowly, "if you _can_ stand, we _could_ go see Madam Pomfrey…"

It was a chance, but Hermione was almost sure it would work. She knew Draco wanted to keep his frequent injuries as low-key as possible. A visit to Pomfrey, especially this late in the evening, would arouse suspicion. He thought about it for a moment and resignedly lay back down. With a satisfied nod, Hermione went to his room, grabbing a blanket and his pillow. She did not bother with his pajamas.

'He won't be able to change into them by himself anyways. And I'm not about to do _that_ much for him.'

Draco was struggling to stay awake on the couch when she returned. She placed his pillow under his head, the blanket over his body, and did not even have time to say, "Goodnight" before Draco was unconscious.

Hermione watched him sleep for a moment. She blushed as she realized what she was doing and looked embarrassedly around the room. Without a sound, she made her way up to her room and went to bed, tossing and turning with thoughts like freight trains barreling through her mind.

She woke the next day with a feeling of anticipation. 'The first weekend of October,' she thought with a smile. 'And that means Hogsmeade.' She showered and changed, putting on something suitable for her meeting with Channing.

'Why he wants to meet me at Madam Puddifoot's is still a mystery,' she thought while delicately applying just a hint of mascara. 'But he must have his reasons…'

She walked down the stairs, Crookshanks at her heels. She could see Draco's slightly bruised arm slung limply over the black leather couch. She was about to walk right by when her conscience caught up with her.

'You can't just leave him, Hermione,' it whispered in her mind.

'Yes I can,' she argued back, 'and I'm going to'. Hermione mulled over his attitude all night, which did not bode well for him now. ' After the way he treated me last night…after all I did for him! He thinks he's so strong…he can deal with this on his own.' She continued marching towards the door, proud that she had managed to overcome that niggling sense of pity. Just then she heard him groan loudly.

'See?' her conscience said in an "I-told-you-so" tone.

Heaving a giant sigh, she dropped her bag on the table and reluctantly went to go check on him. Any anger that she may have had dissipated when she saw the state he was in. The bruises that had covered his body in the darkness looked even more atrocious in the light. They were great, multi-colored swellings; different shades of purple, blue, green, and yellow tinged his usually flawless alabaster skin.

'This type of cruelty shouldn't be allowed,' she thought with a grim look.

"Malfoy," she whispered while quietly crouched over him. His eyes jerked open at her whisper and he looked panicked for a moment. "It's alright, it's alright. Stay here, okay? You're covered with bruises – I wouldn't be surprised if you can't move. The House Elves will bring you food and something for the pain. You should consider asking for a healing salve as well."

"Where are you going?" he asked weakly.

"Hogsmeade," she said, standing up.

"Shite." He started to get up too, much to Hermione's surprise.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" she said, pressing her hand to his chest to stop his already agonizingly slow rising.

"Going to Hogsmeade. Now get your hands off me." He tried to shove against her arm, but succeeded only in moving Hermione's hand a minute amount.

"You can't even sit," she said logically. "How do you plan on walking?"

"I could sit if you'd get your filthy hands off me," he hissed maliciously. "The rest I'll figure out later. Now let me up. McGonagall will kill me if I don't patrol."

"I'll tell her what happened. Or, the gist of what happened, anyways," she corrected at Draco's fleeting anxious look. "She'll understand. Just stay for today and rest."

He was about to argue again when Hermione cut him off. "Please, don't be stubborn, Malfoy. I really don't want to hex you."

Hit with the reality of her threat, or perhaps simply tired of struggling, Draco submitted.

Hermione nodded, quite pleased that she managed to win yet another argument. 'This will make it easier to talk to Channing as well,' she thought. Undoubtedly, she and Draco would have to patrol the streets together. It would be difficult for her to sneak off on her own without arousing his suspicion. 'But now with him conveniently out of the way…' Hermione smiled as she slipped into the secret passage that led to the Hogsmeade exit. 'This may prove to be an interesting day.'

By the time Hermione stepped into Madame Puddifoot's, she was already clutching three small bags close to her sides. She already needed more parchment and ink, as well as a few new quills from Scrivenshaft's. She bought a new pair of gloves from Gladrags and some sweets from Honeydukes, most of which were going to Harry.

Hermione looked around the garishly decorated room trying to spot Channing. She craned her neck towards the very back tables when she felt someone press against her back.

"Looking for someone?" said a deep voice in her ear.

Hermione made a startled noise and jumped. The man behind her laughed and when she turned around, Hermione smiled in relief.

"Mr. Orman!" she said in surprise, holding her hand to her chest.

"Channing, please, Hermione." His eyes glinted as he flashed a row of perfect white teeth. "Shall we find a table?"

Hermione smiled and nodded as Channing placed his hand at the small of her back and led her to a back table. Hermione sat down in silent gratitude, placing her parcels underneath her chair while Channing ordered tea and scones.

They made small talk about the weather and Hermione's classes until their tea arrived. Hermione reached for a cup when Channing snatched it from her grasp. "No," he said with a simpering smile, "allow me." Hermione smiled uneasily and looked down in embarrassment. As he placed the cup before her, their casual conversation turned to a more pressing matter.

"So, you've gotten nowhere on your assignment?"

"I'm afraid not," Hermione confessed, slightly ashamed of her lack of interesting news. "I've searched his room and I can't find anything."

"Have you looked everywhere?"

"Absolutely."

"Hm, well chances are that if he was hiding something, he wouldn't keep physical evidence of it lying around anyways."

'So why the hell did I look?' Hermione thought, annoyed that she had rifled through Malfoy's life for naught.

"The information we need, then, is most likely in his head. Did you by chance learn anything over the summer that would help with this?"

"I learned a bit of Legilimency, but I'm pretty sure Malfoy is quite a good Occlumens. And I'm not that good of an Occlumens – anything I try to do to him could be done right back to me. I wouldn't be able to get anything out of him that way." She babbled all of this very quickly, not even thinking about what she said until it was too late.

Eyes wide, she fought the urge to clap a hand over her mouth. 'Why did I just tell him that?' thought Hermione in ever-growing panic. 'Moody said I wasn't supposed to tell anyone about those lessons!' Channing's reply interrupted her panic.

"Oh, you learned Legilimency?" he said in what Hermione thought was poorly concealed surprise. "That's…interesting. Very interesting…" He trailed off and seemed to consider the news for a moment. Hermione was put immediately on guard. "Interesting," he continued after a moment, "but not what I was suggesting." He looked furtively around the café and, seeing no one but mooning couples, said in low tones, "I was implying slightly…trickier…means of getting information."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "I don't think I follow you."

"You're accomplished at Potions, are you not? Certainly a batch of Veritaserum wouldn't be that difficult to brew."

Hermione gasped. "I could never! That's underhanded and unfair!"

Channing smiled craftily, glancing down at her tea, then regained his composure. "Why wouldn't you, though?" he said with a searching look, dull brown eyes staring deep into her own.

Before Hermione could formulate an acceptable answer, the truth came spewing from her mouth. "Because he's been through so much already…It just doesn't seem right to drug him."

"Are you saying you care about him?"

"Yes," she immediately answered. Her eyes widened in surprise. "No," she recovered. "'No', I don't care about him," she said forcefully to Channing. "Why the hell did I say yes then?" she said to herself.

She heard Channing sigh. "I should have known this would happen. Hermione, you're part of the Order now. You have to let go of your feelings."

"I don't have feel-"

"It doesn't matter what you do or don't have, just be careful you keep them out of your assignment. Don't forget what he did to you…to Harry." Memories of the past six years flashed in her mind as did the memories of last night. Hermione's heart heretically softened. "Now, you're sure you found nothing?"

"Not a thing," she said honestly.

"Alright, I believe you." Channing reached across the table and took Hermione's hand in his. "You're really strong for doing this, Hermione," he said, voice dropping an octave lower. He gently rubbed her hand with his fingers. "Most women your age would cave under the pressure. But you're so strong..." She felt his leg brush hers beneath the table...intentionally.

The mood of the meeting suddenly changed. Where it had once been professional, albeit a little uncomfortable, it was now very tense. She looked down at his hand, tried not to look puzzled, and pulled away from his touch. "Thank you," Hermione said hesitantly with a smile that poorly hid her discomfort. Channing smiled and glanced at his watch.

"I have to get going now, Hermione," he said as they made their way to the door. "Thank you for meeting with me today. I enjoyed seeing you."

Hermione gave him another uncomfortable smile and said, "Yes. Thank you for the tea." Hermione shivered slightly as she stepped into the chilly October air. Unexpectedly, Channing enveloped her in a hug. She stiffened as he pressed her body close to his chest and wrapped his arms all the way around her.

"Be safe," he whispered with a final squeeze.

"Okay," she said, backing away from his body. "I have to go now," she said awkwardly. She turned and tried to calmly walk down the street. When she looked back to find him staring, Hermione quickened her pace. She turned a corner simply to get out of his sight and leaned up against the alley wall, taking a deep, shaky breath.

"What the hell was that?"


	21. Ch 21: Restoration

Author's Note: Hey all! Scary thought, but as of this chapter, the story is half over!! There's plenty more action to come, though. A huuuuuge thank you to all of you readers and reviewers - you've made this story a complete success and are really inspirational/motivating. I appreciate all the encouragement, criticism, and praise that you all have been so kind to give. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Restoration

Hermione stayed in the alley only for a little while. The cold bit her cheeks and snow fell from the sky in sharp little specks, hurried along by a sudden swift wind. She decided to head back to the castle, thinking about her strange meeting with Channing the entire way. She walked to her dorm room in a daze, answered the portrait's riddle ("No sooner spoken than broken. What am I?" "Silence."), and was about to head up to her room when she heard her name called imperiously from the couch.

"Granger!"

She stopped in her tracks. "What is it, Malfoy?" she asked wearily.

"Come here."

Because she simply did not feel like arguing, Hermione consented. "Feeling any better?" she asked, unwinding her long Gryffindor scarf.

"What do you think?" he answered back waspishly. Hermione then looked at him and almost screamed in frustration. He was still covered in bruises.

"Why wasn't this taken care of? Didn't the House Elves bring up salve? As much as I hate to do it, perhaps I should report them to McGonagall…House Elves not doing their jobs…makes no sense at all. This is just rid-"

"Granger! Stop ranting. I sent the House Elves away. There was no way I'm going to let their grimy little hands touch my skin."

She looked at him, unbelieving. "You didn't let them apply the salve? Malfoy, why do you have to be so difficult?" Hermione complained, exasperated at his behavior. She looked around the room and noticed a tray of untouched food on the table. "What is _this_ still doing here?"

"I'm not about to let them _feed _me. That's barbaric." Draco mock shuddered in disgust.

"So you're unhealed _and_ unfed?"

"And in a lot of pain. I fell over twice when I got up to go to the bathroom."

Hermione's face soured in exasperation. "I leave you alone for _one_ day…" she muttered, dropping her bags and taking off her coat. She could feel Draco watching her every move…it was unnerving

"So, which would you like first, to be healed or to be fed?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't be thick. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Now pick one, or I'll choose."

"Food," he said without hesitation.

"Alright then." She clapped sharply and a house elf appeared with a bowl of hearty stew, a tall glass of water, and a few slices of bread. Hermione looked appraisingly at the meal and, finding it satisfactory, thanked the elf. It disappeared with a toothy grin, a bow, and a crack. She helped Draco into a sitting position, being as gentle as possible, and set the tray upon his lap.

"Can you use your arms?" she asked him, embarrassed both for herself and for him.

"Yes," he said shortly. With what appeared to be a great amount of effort, Draco hefted his hand onto the tray and fumbled with the silverware. He regained control soon though and was soon slurping away at the soup. While he ate, Hermione hung up her coat and put away her bags. When she returned, only crumbs remained. With a flick of her wand, the mess vanished. She then reached for the healing salve on the table.

XOX

'Here comes the fun…' Draco thought sarcastically. It was embarrassing enough almost having to be fed by Hermione, but now…Draco was not looking forward to what he knew was unavoidable. The pungent smell of fish pervaded the air as Hermione unscrewed the cap. Draco gagged at the stench.

"They could at least make it smell a bit better," Hermione said, turning slightly green at the odor.

She scooped a glob of the slimy goo onto her fingers and looked at Draco awkwardly. Hermione lifted up one of his arms to rest on her knee. Even from their limited contact, the heat from her leg was unbelievable. His whole arm tingled with the conflicting warmth of her body and frigidity of the salve. She rubbed it smoothly into his skin, the pain and the bruises disappearing almost immediately.

She finished his arms and sat back. "Looks a lot better," she remarked. Draco nodded and turned his arms over.

'There's hardly any pain at all,' Draco thought while Hermione attended his other arm. Then, he saw her take a smaller glob of the foul-smelling salve and approach his face.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, halting Hermione's progress with an outstretched arm. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she retorted. "Now shut your mouth."

"I don't think so, Granger," he said, batting her arm away once more. "I can do the rest myself."

She glared at him and scraped the goo from her fingers back into the jar. "Fine, do it yourself then."

"Get me a mirror."

If looks could kill, Draco would have died twice over.

"Get your own bloody mirror," she spat.

Draco watched her march angrily to her room and shook his head. "Women."

With some difficulty, he smeared the salve over the rest of his injuries and chanced getting up. He smiled as he stood and walked without pain.

'This stuff is brilliant,' he thought, stashing the balm in a cupboard. 'No doubt I'll need it again soon…'

XOX

Draco spent the week invisible. He took all of his meals in the common room and skirted through the secret passageways whenever possible. He kept his head down during classes, attempting to ignore the stares and jeers constantly being thrown his way. He was unsure if word had gotten out about the incident on the Quidditch pitch or if people were still reeling over his chase with Ron.

Whatever the case, it was not boding well for Draco. The students were becoming bolder in the actions against him. They now taunted him openly, willing to give up their House points and serve detention time just so they would be able to say they insulted the great Draco Malfoy without being cursed into oblivion. People did not fear him like they once did.

'Save for one,' he thought. Hermione's fear was interesting, though: it was a hybrid. She knew about his arrogance and his drive – when riled, he was obviously dangerous. But the anomalous scene on the couch showed a different side of him, one that he had not meant to expose to her so quickly, if at all. 'It's the inconsistency that scares her,' he thought, walking back through the halls from another Quidditch practice. He was careful to keep his eyes open, but knew he was free from harm for the evening.

He answered Godric's tricky riddle ("I know a word of letters three. Add two more and fewer there will be. What is the word?" "Few.") and stepped through the portrait hole, instinctively looking for Hermione. They had been on surprisingly friendly terms, which certainly shocked both parties. The events of that weekend undoubtedly lingered in her mind, as they did in Draco's, but she did not mention them, for which Draco was immeasurably grateful. They held short but civil conversations, usually discussing Transfigurations, which was easily their most difficult class.

'And we were supposed to practice tonight,' he thought, looking around the common room once more. 'So where the devil is she?'

"Granger?" he said, dropping his bag. "Where are you?"

"Malfoy! I'm so glad you're back," she said with just a hint of urgency in her voice.

He cocked his head. "Glad I'm back?" he said in a puzzled undertone. Those were three words he thought Hermione would never say. "Where are you?"

"I'm on the other side of the couch," she said testily. "Now will you please get over here?"

"Don't be so demanding," he mocked, but walked over anyways. What he saw shocked him. Hermione was lying on the floor, except it was not Hermione.

'Well, not all of her, at least.'

Hermione was half red fox. Her head was perfectly normal, as was her torso. But her lower half was decidedly fox-like and she was covered in rust-colored fur. Her wand was lying about a yard away from her on a high end table. By the looks of it, she had been trying to recover it for quite some time.

"Nice tail," he smirked.

She glared up at him; the tail flicked in annoyance. "Would you mind helping me out here, Malfoy?"

He stared at her a moment longer, trying to fully convince himself of the oddity before his eyes. He shook his head in disbelief and thought, '_Abeo hominis'_.

Hermione morphed once more into her fully human self and picked herself up from the floor. "Thanks for that," she said, straightening her shirt.

"I thought we agreed to practice becoming Animagi together, Granger," he said in a rebuking tone.

"I got impatient. You were taking much too long at Quidditch practice."

For the first time in his life, Draco found himself scolding Hermione. "We were assigned partners for a reason. You heard McGonagall say that becoming Animagi was difficult, right? And that we shouldn't practice alone?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "I just…I thought I could do it." Her face flushed with damaged pride.

"Well, don't try it again," finished Draco with a pointed look.

Awkward silence hung in the air for a moment. Then Draco said, "That was pretty impressive, though. How many times did it take you to get there?"

"About twenty," Hermione answered brightly. "I didn't get anything but fur until fifteen, when I got a tail. That's the farthest I've gotten."

'Impressive,' he thought. 'She truly is as clever as they think.' He smiled cockily.

"I bet I can get a tail before fifteen," he challenged with a grin.

Hermione laughed. "I'd like to see you try."

"Give me a minute to settle in, then I'll prove it."

Upstairs, he changed quickly into a comfortable pair of sweats and a t-shirt. When he came back downstairs, he saw that Hermione had cleared a spot in front of the fireplace, moving the table and couches away so they would have enough room to practice.

"Alright then," she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She struck an expectant pose and said, "You think you can do better? Show me."

"I will, Granger. And you're going to be amazed."

Draco shut his eyes and concentrated hard on the grey wolf. He thought of it's fur, it's paws, it's ears, it's very basic anatomy, trying to imagine himself with those very characteristics. Once he got a good grasp on his animal, he thought the spell: _abeo lupus_.

He did not feel any different. He cracked open an eye to see Hermione struggling to maintain a straight face.

"Anything?" he asked her hopefully.

"Nope," she giggled. "But you should have seen your expression," she joked with a teasing smile.

"Seriously?" he said, opening his eyes fully now and looking down at himself.

"Not a thing. But don't worry, you still have fourteen tries left to get a tail," she joked. Draco smiled at her jibe.

And so started their practice. Draco practiced until he achieved a tail, which he did at his fifteenth try. A few tries after that, and he was as far as Hermione had been. His body half wolf, but still not fully there.

They took turns after that, laughing good-naturedly at each other when their transformations went horribly wrong. After two short hours of practice, Hermione lowered her wand. The fun had long-since passed, leading to frustration for both. She flopped down onto the couch, Draco landing next to her.

"What are we missing?" Hermione groaned. "We know our animals inside and out. We know the spells. We're concentrating! But we're still only achieving half transformations! What else is there?"

Draco ran his fingers through his platinum hair and sighed. "No idea," he said, "but it's really starting to get to me. I'm worn out." Draco yawned widely, triggering the same response in Hermione. "I should probably get to bed."

"Yeah, you have a game tomorrow."

He hoisted himself off the couch and mounted the stairs, Hermione following suit. They split off to their respective rooms and Draco was just about to shut the door when he stopped.

"Are you coming?" he asked.

"What?" she asked, turning to look over her shoulder at him.

He hesitated for a moment. "Are you coming," he repeated, "to my game?" He struggled to keep the blood from rushing to his face. He saw her waiver slightly; she was going to say no. "It's against Gryffindor," he blurted.

"Is it?" she asked, truly surprised. She furrowed her brow slightly, most likely thinking the same thing Draco was: why did Ron not tell her?

"Sure, I'll come," she said after a short silence.

Draco did not trust himself to speak, nodding instead. Without bidding her goodnight, he shut his door.

'It'll be nice to know that someone in the stands doesn't hate me. Well, not completely, anyways.' He smiled at the thought of his imminent victory over Gryffindor and slept deeply.


	22. Ch 22: Wrongly Played

Author's Note: Hey all! Chapter 22, as expected. I love this chapter, and I hope you all do too! Please leave a review and above all, enjoy!!

Wrongly Played

Draco woke up half an hour before his alarm was set to ring. Instead of falling back asleep as most teenagers are prone, he got out of bed. He snapped and a House Elf was at his side in an instant, holding out to him a cup of steaming chocolate.

Clutching the warm mug, he walked to his balcony, which overlooked the Forbidden Forest. The almost uncomfortably cool air caressed the skin of his chest, giving him a not-at-all unpleasant feeling of goose bumps. He shivered with pleasure and took a sip of the cocoa, looking out at the dark forest, which was just now being touched with the gentle light of dawn. Taking a seat on the stone ledge, he watched the sunrise.

Draco sighed. He loved moments like this: these rare, peaceful moments where he got to be alone. He did not think about his transformations, he did not worry about the upcoming game, he did not fear for what the year had in store for him or the rest of humanity. In that moment, all that mattered were the sunrise and the wind, the ground below him and the sky above him. In that moment, Draco simply _was_.

The angry buzz of his alarm clock shattered the calm. 'I suppose I should get ready,' With another sigh, he took one last look at the quiet and natural scene before him and turned into his room. He readied in silence and half an hour later, he ventured down to the common room.

Draco ate slowly – a protein-loaded of breakfast of eggs and sausage – while staring into the dying embers of the fire. He did not feel Hermione come up behind him and jumped when she spoke.

"Are you nervous?"

Draco looked her in the eyes steadily. "Not for the game, no."

He stood. Saying nothing else, he exited the room, leaving Hermione with a confused expression on her face.

XOX

'That was a very curious answer…' Hermione thought, rooted to the spot after Draco left. 'He's not nervous for the game…so what the devil _is_ he nervous about?' After whisking away Draco's half-eaten breakfast, she snapped for her own. The grandfather clock chimed; Hermione swore softly. 'Bugger, it starts in an hour. I'd better get going if I want a seat.'

"Be a good boy, Crookshanks," she said, grabbing her red and gold scarf from the coat rack and draping it around her neck. She tightened it as she walked out of the doors and into a blast of chilly October air. She reached the pitch in almost record time and climbed the stairs swiftly. Finding an empty seat in the top row, Hermione took a moment to regard the Gryffindors around her. She saw Dean, who pulled out the traditional Gryffindor banner, sitting next to Lavender and Parvati. Wedged together warmly a few rows down were Neville and Luna, who was wearing her ridiculous lion hat, which had become a staple at all of Gryffindor's games. Hermione smiled to see all her friends, the faces with whom she was most familiar, surrounding her.

The one smiling face that she missed the most was Harry. The face she was angry at was Ron.

'Why the devil didn't he tell me he was playing today?' Hermione wondered as she stared blankly at the field. 'It doesn't make sense. The only reason he wouldn't tell me is if he didn't want me to come. And he wouldn't want me to come because…'

Her attention was drawn to something on the field: the captains of the Quidditch teams were shaking hands, if you could call the death-grip each had on the other a shake. '…Malfoy.' The enmity between the two boys was unmistakable, even from high above them.

Hermione suddenly became quite nervous, fearing the worst for both boys but not knowing who garnered more of her concern. She loved Ron with all her heart – he was a dear friend. But Draco had gone through so much in the past few weeks; Hermione felt heretically compassionate towards him. Apprehension coursed through her; the teams were doing warm-up routines and both sides were flying fiercely, ruthlessly. She saw Draco yell at his team and Ron scream at his with equal passion. It was going to be an intense game...a _very_ intense game.

Hermione's left side became suddenly warm as someone sat down beside her. Not feeling sociable at the moment, Hermione ignored him until he said, "Nice to see you again, Hermione."

She looked up at the familiar voice and found herself staring straight into the mousey, brown eyes of none other than Channing Orman.

"Channing!" She did not bother hiding her surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I wanted to see you again. And Ron," he added as an afterthought. "I heard he's a fabulous Keeper."

"He has his days, yes," she responded carefully.

"As do we all."

Awkward silence hung in the air for a few minutes.

"So when do they start?" he asked as a desperate attempt at a conversation starter.

"Um, about five minutes," she said, checking her watch.

"Ah."

Again, silence.

"So…have you tried what I suggested yet?"

"No," Hermione answered. "I haven't." She shivered against the cold wind. Channing must have taken notice, for he pulled a thermos from the inside of his robes.

"Here," he said, handing her a drink. "This will warm you."

She raised an eyebrow at the mug and looked at Channing appraisingly. His eyes were wide and his mouth turned into a pleasant smile. Disarmed by the innocence of his expression, she smiled and took a sip of the offered cocoa. He resumed his conversation with her.

"Do you have any intention of using stealth to get information out of Malfoy?"

The abruptness of the question caught her off-guard, but luckily Hermione was a quick thinker. She wanted to say yes, and was about to, when "No" came shooting from her lips.

"Hm, that's a pity then. I'll just have to tell Moody that your mission failed."

"What?" Hermione asked, agape at the consequence.

"Afraid so," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "Oh well. Maybe if you're lucky, he'll give you another one."

Completely terrified that her role in all this would soon come to a screeching halt, Hermione searched for something that would keep her involved. Careful wording would hopefully hide her desperation. "I will continue to look deeper and will result to your…_tactics_ only as a last resort. Until then, I could handle another mission."

Madame Hooch's voice then rang out over the stadium. "We'll discuss it more after the game," Channing said, his eyes raptly on the pitch. Hermione rolled her eyes at his enthusiasm for the sport, but trained her eyes to the field as well. The balls were released, the Snitch flying off into the distance and the Bludgers hurtling off at high speeds. The Quaffle sailed into the air and the whistle blew. The game had begun.

Hermione was a mess of tense energy. She screamed with delight whenever Ron made a particularly good save and cheered like mad when Gryffindor scored the first two goals. Gryffindor scored again, but Hermione knew better than to relax in her seat. The Slytherin team had been flying well below the level they had been in practice. It would be foolish of her – of anyone! – to assume that this would be a gentle game.

As if responding to her logic, Draco gave his team a signal. The Slytherin team took off. Even Hermione, a novice to Quidditch and all things broomstick related, could tell that the Gryffindors were out-flown. The extra practices, even at the expense of Animagi practice, had obviously paid off as Slytherin rapidly scored four goals. Gryffindor answered back with another goal and the game was tied at forty.

It became more competitive after that. Bludgers were aimed vindictively at heads and players were rammed violently into the stands. Hermione shrieked as Ron took a Bludger to the stomach and plummeted to the ground. The rest of the team only allowed one goal and her friend was miraculously up in a matter of seconds.

Secretly, Hermione was happy to see that Draco was having a relatively quiet game. He flew above the mayhem, searching for the tiny glint of gold that could win his team the game. Only a few errant Bludgers came his way, which he dodged effortlessly, gracefully. As he scanned the stadium, Hermione was struck by the natural ability he had. She had been so blinded by his general snarkiness that she had never noticed that he actually had _talent_.

Suddenly, he sped off. Draco shot down to the Gryffindor goalposts, green cloak trailing behind him wildly. He let go of the broom and reached out, his fingers straining for the prize that only he could see. The concentration on his face was so intense, so primal…It thrilled her to see him so passionate. Her breath hitched in her chest: he was about to catch it. His fingers glanced the nearly-invisible wings when…

WHAM!

Ron charged from the sky and pelted Draco with enough force to knock him from his broom. Draco flew across the pitch and landed hard on the ground, bouncing twice before coming to a halt next to his broom. Despite herself, Hermione covered her mouth with her hands, worry catching her breath. But the spill must not have been half as bad as it looked, for Draco was up in a few seconds and back into the air. The Snitch had escaped. Gryffindor ended up receiving a penalty for Ron's foul play and Slytherin made a goal. The score was now sixty to forty for Slytherin.

Time flew. Unbeknownst to most of the audience, they had been standing in the cold and wind for over four hours; their excitement distracted them from the bitter temperature. Hermione, though, did know how long she had been out there. And she could tell the players were beginning to feel it. The pace of the game slowed and the players started making silly mistakes, the score growing equally on each side. Without a doubt, the game would depend on the Seekers.

The audience realized this. All attention was on Draco and Ginny, who had been promoted to Seeker in Harry's absence. Hermione saw Draco dive again, furiously hurtling towards the ground. She saw Ginny take off as well, dropping into a dive that was just as steep. Draco did not back off. Neither did the Ginny. They approached the ground fast…too fast. At the last second, just as it looked like they were about to rendezvous with the unforgiving ground, Draco pulled up, his broom tail skimming the perfectly-manicured turf. Ginny could not react as quickly and hit the grass with a sickening crunch heard around the stadium.

"He was feinting," Hermione whispered to no one. She needn't have bothered though – the rest of the crowd seemed to have realized this. Screams of anger tore from their mouths as Ron swooped down to aid his younger sister. With the Gryffindor team in disarray and the Slytherins left alone on the field, it was no surprise that Draco caught the Snitch. He landed with a triumphant gesture. His team landed as well, but congratulated and celebrated with only each other, heading off to the locker rooms quickly. This left Draco alone and unguarded on the pitch, clutching the tiny gold ball which had earned his team victory.

She saw Ron lift Ginny up and spot Malfoy from across the field. Almost instinctively, she knew what was going to happen. She cursed loudly.

"What?" asked Channing, but it was too late for her to respond. Hermione was already rushing down the stairs, frantically pushing through the disappointed Gryffindors, who cursed her rudeness. Hermione could care less about the state of her peers. She just hoped she wouldn't be too late.

Unfortunately, she was. Ron had reached Draco and both boys were now involved in an intense physical battle. If the situation had not been so extreme, it would have looked comical. They were facing each other, surrounded by both teams and a thick circle of upset students. Professors tried to push their way through the crowd, but it was packed too tightly. They could do nothing but stand by helplessly and watch the fight.

Both figures had their fists balled and raised. Desperately shoving her way through the crowd, Hermione could only see snippets of what was happening. Their mouths moved, exchanging insults. A cocky sneer contorted Draco's face. Ron let out a scream of rage and rushed at Malfoy, who dodged his blow and clouted him on the back of the head. He whipped around and punched Draco in the face. The unexpected blow sent Draco reeling. He staggered backwards into the wall of people, who bodily shoved him forward.

Dodging Draco's next swing, which would have landed soundly on his opponent's cheek, Ron took the opportunity and punched Draco in the face again. Blood spurted from his face in an arc, shiny red against the sunlight afternoon sky. Hermione launched herself through the edge of the circle. Ron walked towards Draco again, teeth bared and a manic gleam in his normally calm blue eyes. Taking a chance, she quickly placed herself between Ron and Draco.

"No, Ron! Stop it," she said sternly. She looked back only for a moment to Draco, who was not even trying to stymie the blood flowing from his nose. The dark crimson flowed steadily down his pale face, curving around and into his lips. His spat the offending liquid onto the ground carelessly. Finally, she managed to catch his eyes; he glared at her meanly. Not bothering to respond similarly, she turned back to Ron.

"Get out of the way, Hermione." She shook her head, not budging an inch. He advanced on her now, trying to intimidate her with his size. She took a deep breath. As much as it hurt her, that wasn't going to work. She_couldn't_ let that work. "Move," he demanded. "You saw what he did to Ginny."

"That was what the_game _did to Ginny, Ronald. You know that was a perfectly legitimate move. It's not his fault!" she blurted.

Ron's jaw dropped. "You're _defending _him?" he asked in outrage. "Actually_defending_ him? Hermione, what the hell?"

Realizing her mistake, Hermione switched tactics. She tried to defend _herself_, but too late. Ron went on, making a scene in front of almost the entire school.

"After all he did to Harry, to me, to _you_, you're sticking up for him now? How could you betray us like this?"

"No," she pleaded. "No, that's not true, Ron, you know that-"

"You're a traitor," he continued. "_Traitor_!" He pointed his finger accusingly at Hermione, whose eyes welled with hot tears. It was melodramatic, but it was effective.

"Ron, you know that's not true," she said in a shaky voice. She took a step back, afraid of the accusation and its implications. "I love you and I love Harry. I would never…"

"_Liar_," he hissed.

By this point, she was nearly hysterical. "Ron, no! I wouldn't…I couldn't…he…"

The professors were then able to break through, bringing with them some semblance of calm to the entire situation. "Mr. Weasley!" McGonagall shouted. "You are to head to my office immediately! Ms. Granger, accompany Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing. Everyone else, to your dormitories! There's nothing to see here now. Off with you!"

The student body reluctantly dispersed. Ron shot Hermione one last scathing look before he went with McGonagall, who dragged him along by his arm. Hermione watched him walk away then turned to the remaining crowd. To her great surprise, most were regarding her with expressions similar to Ron's. Some held contempt, most surprise, and a few, the most noticeable, hurt. The last person to leave the field was Ginny. She glowered at Hermione and bodily shoved past, driving her shoulder into Hermione's with extraordinary force.

Something in Hermione broke. She looked up at the brilliant afternoon sun over the empty pitch, willing herself to be strong, not to cry, not to make an even bigger fool of herself. Her tears would not be restrained. She lowered her head, her curly brown hair falling in front of her, obscuring her shamed face from the world.

Unexpectedly, a hand came gently down on her shoulder. She flinched at the touch, her surprise intensified by the voice attached to the hand.

"Come on," Draco said in a voice that rumbled like distant thunder. "I need to go to the hospital wing."

Hermione took a deep breath and lifted her head to the sky. She wanted to scream, but instead silenced her tears. Proudly, she turned and regarded Malfoy, who was still bleeding quite steadily. For what felt like a walk too often taken, Draco and Hermione wound through the castle to the hospital wing.


	23. Ch 23: A Tentative Union

Author's Note: ...I think you're going to like this chapter. I know I do. Please read and review:D

A Tentative Union

Draco was efficiently ushered into the Hospital Wing by Madam Pomfrey, who made a fuss of healing his broken nose.

"It will look just as it did, I assure you," she said, inspecting the bleeding orifice carefully. She touched it gingerly, prompting a hiss from between Draco's clenched teeth. It hurt like the dickens, but he was sure it would have hurt worse had he not been completely distracted.

Truth be told, Draco did not really care at all about the state of his nose at present, the gasps of shock and revulsion other hospital occupants were sending his way because of all the blood on his face, or the fact that Madam Pomfrey was ranting about the dangers of Quidditch and how, "Young, fragile boys like yourself should not even be allowed to play!" His attention was focused on Hermione, who had thoughtlessly put herself in the middle of a battle that was not hers.

'I wonder if she realizes what she did,' he thought while staring at her. Madam Pomfrey tossed a towel into his lap, but he ignored it, blood continuing to drip steadily down his face. 'She defended me, which is the same as joining me to these people.' He sighed and looked down regretfully, wiping his hands, at least, on the towel. 'She just made one of the gravest mistakes of her life.' He glanced at her forlorn-looking figure again, watching her stare off into space.

Suddenly, a flash of suspicion and anger sped through Draco's body. Channing Orman had just come up behind Hermione and placed his hand on her shoulder. He saw them talking and would've given his right arm to hear what they were saying. Hermione nodded in response to one of his questions and Draco watched as the man placed his hand on her lower back and led her to a hospital bed. Channing's intimate touch stirred something oddly protective in Draco. Hermione looked so small, so diminished at the moment, and Draco wouldn't put it past Channing to try something on her. He was contemplating going over to break up their chat when he saw Channing smirk and close the sheets around the bed, obscuring the two figures from his view.

That was _more_ than enough. Draco vaulted himself out of the bed and was about to go interrupt when Madam Pomfrey appeared in front of him, looking stern and holding a vial filled with a clear green potion.

"Just where do you think you're going?" she said, sitting him forcefully back down on the bed.

"I need to…"

"No you don't," she said, shoving a potion into his hands. "Now take this and stay seated. You'll become very dizzy very quickly as the potion takes hold. And clean yourself up; you look like death with all that blood on your face."

Draco sneered at the meddling Mediwitch, but obeyed her nonetheless. He chugged the potion, which tasted pleasantly like apples, and rolled his eyes as Madam Pomfrey walked away from his bedside. Giving his face a few quick swipes with the towel, he ignored her advice and stood up quickly. After a few steps towards Hermione and Channing's private little nest, a keening pain took his whole body. A splitting headache gripped him, so bad it brought him to his knees. He clutched his blonde head and moaned pitiably into the tiled floor. Pain shot through his nose, causing him to instinctively cover it. It cracked and crunched back to its original shape beneath his fingers, each chunk of cartilage scraping against another in order to right itself. The sensation left him quite nauseated.

"Why doesn't anyone ever listen to me?" lamented Madam Pomfrey as she bodily lifted a peaky and disoriented Draco off the floor. She placed him back in his bed, gently laying his head on the pillow. "Now don't move an inch until that headache disappears, although I very much doubt you'll be able to."

And right she was. As much as Draco would have loved to find out what Channing and Hermione were talking about, the pounding in his head and the rolling in his stomach were far too intense to merit movement of any sort, at least for the moment.

XOX

Hermione sat on the bed while Channing closed the curtains, ensuring their privacy. The bright light from the sun faded against the drapes and Hermione felt like she was enclosed in darkness. She did not like it: it was uncomfortable, nervous, and claustrophobic. She felt her stomach roil unpleasantly and she clenched her teeth together tightly, fighting the nausea.

Channing stood before her, oblivious to her discomfort, and started to explain her assignment. "I understand that you were unable to attain any further information from Malfoy. You did a good job, and I trust that you did all that was in your power. Your next assignment will hopefully yield better results." He paused, then said, "You are to analyze Harry."

Hermione looked up at him quizzically. How he had gotten a new assignment so quickly for her was a mystery. As far as Hermione knew, there wasn't time enough to access a Floo, explain the situation to Moody, _and_ meet her back in the hospital wing. Was there? Either way, Hermione pushed it from her mind, her desperation to be useful far outweighing her characteristic penchant for logic and timing. "Analyze him?" she asked instead.

"Yes, focusing mainly on his weaknesses. We want to know what the Dark Lord could exploit when Harry is on the battlefield. We need to make sure that Harry guards against these things, whatever they may be. You are to report back to me and only me with weekly or biweekly with updates. Even if you say you've done nothing, tell me about it. And if you ever need help, don't hesitate to Floo me. Your fireplace is attached to the network. So, do you accept this mission?"

Hermione nodded mutely – of course she would accept the mission – and looked down at her feet once more. She was going over the new task in her head, or trying to at least. But what happened on the pitch was stuck in her mind; she was having quite a difficult time letting go of her friends' reactions. Channing just now sensed her discomfort. The bed bounced slightly as he took a seat close next to her. Still a dazed, she flinched as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"Hey," he said in a gentle voice. "I saw what happened out there…"

Hermione looked up at him plaintively, her brown eyes shining with unshed tears. "I don't want to talk about it," she said quietly, breaking eye contact with him.

"Okay. I just wanted to say that I thought you did the right thing, and that I think you're incredibly brave for it."

He pulled her close. Hermione did not have the strength to resist. She let out a sigh and felt him move beside her. She then felt pressure on the top of her head and the warmth of his breath through her hair.

She pulled away from him and looked up at him with a furrowed brow. She had no sooner met his eyes than she saw him lean his head in towards her. Before Hermione had time to figure out his intentions, his lips were on hers.

At the exact moment of their connection, the drapes around the bed were violently pulled open. She drew away from Channing quickly, meeting Draco's perplexed grey eyes. They sparked dangerously, electrifying the air around him. The hairs on Hermione's skin stood on end and she suppressed the delightful shiver that ran down her spine.

As much as she wanted to look away, Hermione found she could not. Draco's eyes held her fast, a surprisingly deep connection forged with the intense look. As if from a distance, she felt Channing move from beside her and get up. She vaguely remembered hearing him say goodbye and walking away.

After another minute under his soul-searching gaze, Draco spoke. "We should go." His drawling voice was laced with impassivity, but his eyes betrayed him. He was riled and, as per Hermione's experience, dangerous.

Without a word, she got up from the bed. They walked out of the hospital wing abreast, but with at least two feet of space between them the entire way to the dormitory.

Rowena Ravenclaw inhabited the portrait when Draco and Hermione walked up in an awkward silence. She looked from one to the other, acutely aware of the tense silence between the usually feuding couple. She looked from one to the other, as if their troubles were displayed in flashing neon signs above their heads. With a sly smile, she gave them the riddle.

"Of no use to one, yet absolute bliss to two. The small boy gets it for nothing; the young man has to lie for it; the old man has to buy it. The baby's right, the lover's privilege, the hypocrite's mask. To the young girl, hope; to the married woman, faith; to the old maid, charity. What is it?"

They were silent for a while. Then, Draco spoke. "A _kiss_," he said, throwing a pointed look at Hermione.

Rowena smiled knowingly and swung open. Hermione's head shot up at the obvious implications of Rowena's riddle. She shook her head in amazement. 'How do they know everything?' she wondered, carefully stepping into the common room. For the first time since the incident on the Quidditch Pitch, Draco spoke to her.

"So what the hell was that?" He stripped off his Quidditch gear angrily, throwing it in a heap. Hermione tried not to flinch at each slap of the pads hitting the wood floor.

"What the hell was what?" responded Hermione, fully aware of what "what" was. She tried to ignore his anger, tossing her scarf and coat onto the rack.

He looked at her snidely. "Dumb doesn't suit you, Granger. You know full well what I mean."

"I assure you, I do not, Malfoy," she said in all seriousness. Her brown eyes flashed in annoyance as she spoke – who was he to interrogate her?! "Many things happened today, all in a relatively short span of time. You're going to have to be much more specific if you want to know just 'what the hell that was'."

"Fine," he replied, truly irritated. "What did he want?"

"Who?"

"Who? Who do you think, you silly bint? _Orman_!"

Hermione riled at the insult. "_That_ is none of your business."

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. "None of my business…"

"Those curtains were closed for a reason," she said waspishly.

"What? So you two could have a snog in private?" He glared at her accusingly, as if she _had _done something wrong which, Draco knew perfectly well, she had not. And yet he persisted.

At this, though, Hermione blushed a deep shade of scarlet. "We were just talking," she correctly sternly.

"I think talking works better when your lips are apart." She glared at him; Draco did not bother to hold back his smirk. "Even more interesting than what you were talking about, though, was what that kiss meant."

"It wasn't a kiss!" Hermione denied, somewhat foolishly. Draco raised a brow; Hermione acquiesced. "And it didn't mean anything."

"For Merlin's sake, Granger, cut the crap!" Draco shouted, running his fingers through his hair in irritation. "You were in the hospital wing with that scum Channing. You let him kiss you behind a closed curtain. That means something, and you know what!"

"I do not!" Hermione held. "I did not _let_ him kiss me, nor was that my, or _his_, initial intention! And even if the kiss did mean something, how am I supposed to know what it is?"

"So you do admit that it meant something, you just don't know what," Draco said slowly.

"You're twisting my words," she said with narrowed eyes.

"They don't need my help," he responded quickly. "But here's the interesting bit. You know what that kiss meant – I know you do. And you don't want to admit it, that's fine. But what's in it for you? What do you get out of snogging an Order member, huh? Status? Access to information? Or maybe you just like the thrill." He raised a blonde eyebrow at her and looked at her with sparking grey eyes, full of seduction and venom.

Hermione gasped at the implication. "How dare you," she sneered, advancing on him. Not thinking, she gave him a hearty shove to the chest, sending him back each time she advanced. "How dare you accuse me of such…of such impropriety! You don't know his intentions any more than you know mine!"

Draco laughed sharply, leaning his face in close to hers, accenting every syllable. He walked towards her all the while, turning the tables quite suddenly. "Oh Granger, you think you're such a closed book. But I can see right through you – you're pathetic. You have no idea what your role is, what you're supposed to do for this war, and it scares you to death." She was backed up against the wall now, hands splayed against the stone for support.

"Shut up," she hissed, eyes narrowed dangerously.

Draco chuckled. "Struck a nerve, have I?"

"This conversation is over."

Draco looked at her appraisingly for a moment. "Fine then," he said with a shrug. "Different subject. What the hell happened on the pitch?"

"I don't know," Hermione said again.

Draco growled in frustration. "You don't know, you don't know," he mocked. Violently, he planted his hands on either side of Hermione's head, making her jump. "There are a lot of things that you did today that you seem to be ignorant of, Granger, and it's starting to wear on my nerves! You had better own up to your actions because the fallout because of them is going to be unbelievable!"

"What are you talking about?" she shouted back at him. "I didn't do anything out of the ordinary!"

"Oh no, not at all," he said, tone laced with sarcasm. "Oh no, it wasn't at all odd when you placed yourself between the Weasel and I. That was perfectly normal. And it wasn't strange at all then that you started to stick up for me as well. No, that happens every day, doesn't it? Please, forgive me my mistake. The last six years of mutual hatred must have been completely imagined."

"Ha! They sure as hell weren't!" Hermione yelled. "You're the most infuriating person I've ever met! You're arrogant, proud, and an elitist! The very _sight_ of you makes my skin crawl! I can't think of anyone I could conceivably loathe more than I loathe you!"

"And that explains what happened on the Pitch today how?"

Hermione growled in frustration and dug her hands into her curly hair. "What I felt for you back then – hell, right now! – didn't matter today!"

Draco was silent for a moment and took a step away from the wall. After a moment, he asked her seriously, "Why the sudden change?"

She rubbed her forehead with her hand. "I don't know. I don't know," she repeated quietly. "Does it really matter now anyways? It's done with!"

"Your naivety amuses me, Granger," he said indulgently. "This is nowhere _near_ done with. In fact, it's just beginning! And it's all because of what _you_ started!"

"Well, I can't exactly take it back!"

"Although you wish you could."

"I didn't before, but I'm beginning to now," she replied coldly. She did not see him flinch at her tone. "I did what I thought was right, Malfoy, and nothing will change that!"

"Well, you thought wrong!" he scolded her. "Because of your stupid choice, you have no protection. Fuck the fact that you were with Scarhead and his posse of do-gooders…You abandoned that station the moment you placed yourself between Weasley and me! You're on my level now, Granger, and it's not a good one to be on."

"I don't care," she said angrily, brown eyes flashing once more. "If doing the right thing means being on _your level_, then I'll take the shame and everything along with it!"

Draco growled deep in his throat. "You're too noble for your own good!"

"And you're not noble enough!"

The argument ended there. Hermione glared at Draco from across the room, he likewise at her. For a few minutes they stood, not so much looking at each other than looking _past_ each other into what their futures may hold. The air held their emotions in its invisible grip: anger and weary acceptance, both of which they were fully aware.

"So I guess we're in this together then, huh?" asked Hermione in a weary and submissive voice.

"I guess so," Draco responded, equally resigned.

They stood across from each other, neither meeting the other's eyes. As the fading rays of the sun streamed in through the curtains, the fire suddenly ignited.


	24. Ch 24: Rooftops

Author's Note: Hey all! Sorry for the long delay between updates. I had three midterms this week and was a bit preoccupied with all of that...ugh. But, here's Chapter 24. I really hope you guys like it, because I definitely do. Please read, review, and enjoy!

Rooftops

Hermione knew of Draco's desolation. Hell, she had seen it first-hand. But never had she felt it. 'Not until now…' she thought while walking to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Ron and Ginny had been ignoring her since the weekend. Luna and Neville followed their lead and, while they did not openly glare at her like either of the Weasleys, they gave her looks of mixed emotions: usually an odd combination of pity, disappointment, and anger.

'And that's worse, if possible,' she thought sadly.

It was now Tuesday; she already missed the company of her friends. It was odd having no one to talk to. Even the people from other Houses, with whom she normally got along splendidly, were hesitant to chat with her. If they did, it was only to find out their assignments. Whenever Hermione tried to lure them further into conversation, they would make up an excuse and scurry away with their friends, whispering behind their hands and throwing her furtive, over-the-shoulder glances.

'Maybe Malfoy was right,' Hermione thought sadly at dinner. She looked down at her plate and moved the now cold green beans around with her fork. 'Maybe by doing the right thing, I did what was wrong…'

Distressed, she rose from the table quickly. 'I need to think about this,' she thought desperately. None of her friends noticed, or cared about, her speedy departure. Most likely they thought she was just heading off to the library. She passed Draco on her way out of the Great Hall and found that she could not meet his eyes. She kept walking to the one place where she knew solitude was ensured: the roof.

XOX

When Hermione refused to meet Draco's eyes, his heart sank. 'She's having second thoughts.' Everyone had second thoughts when siding with him; it was the way things went, and things were not about to change any time soon.

'Not for the better, at least,' he thought as he looked around the Great Hall. One hundred pairs of eyes regarded him simultaneously. He bristled under their critical gazes, and despite the urge to hex them all into next week, resigned himself to ignoring them. What else could he do? Draco sat down at the furthest end of the table and ate in silence.

He ate slowly, happy to see that attention was soon drawn off of him and turned back towards the trifles of teenage life. By the time he finished, most of the students were gone, as were all of the professors. The only worrying group was a pack of five Ravenclaw sixth years. He had not missed the nasty glares they had been shooting him through dinner and how they intensified as the other students filed out.

'Perhaps I should leave now…' he thought, surreptitiously glancing at the table. All five boys were now regarding him steadily.

Draco rose and walked towards the exit, his ears picking up the rough scraping of the bench against the stone floors. The Ravenclaw boys stood up as well.

He squinted his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, as if appealing to a higher power, mentally asking, 'Why?' He willed himself not to look back. He could hear their paces quicken and he had to restrain himself from breaking into a full-out run. As a large hand clapped down on his arm, Draco almost wished he had.

Unwilling to relinquish control of the situation that easily, Draco maneuvered out of his grasp. He spun around and found himself standing face to face with someone barely familiar. He was about the same height as Draco with dark brown hair and sharp blue eyes. Draco could tell by his build that he was on the Quidditch team and, by the looks of his posse, they were, quite literally, his biggest fans.

"Chad, right?" Draco said. He skipped the niceties. "Aren't you on Ravenclaw's team?"

Caught off guard by Draco's lack of airs, he hesitated before regaining his composure. "Yeah!" he said, "Yeah, I am!"

"And what did you think about the game last Saturday?" Draco asked him this casually, as if inquiring about the weather. He could tell it was absolutely infuriating; he took mental note to use nonchalance more often.

"You better not think of pulling another stunt like that again," warned Chad in what Draco supposed was a threatening tone. Really, the whole thing was quite ridiculous.

"I'll _pull_ whatever stunts I like. It's not my fault if your Seeker can't keep up," he drawled.

"I'm their Seeker!" the boy said threateningly.

"Well then," Draco said with a smirk. He looked him over once, appraising him. "No wonder you don't want me to feint again. You would never be able to pull up from it."

The group of four behind Chad lurched forward together threateningly. Draco chuckled. 'I think they practiced this,' he thought as Chad stuck his arms out to halt his companions. Chad glared menacingly at Draco. He sneered right back.

"This year is different for you, isn't it, Malfoy?" Chad said with false casualty. Draco was suddenly put on edge. "Don't think we haven't noticed," he continued. "McGonagall and that Granger girl watching your every move…your Slytherin cronies abandoning you…Oh yes, we've _all_ noticed. Murdered the Headmaster and now everything seems to have gone out of whack."

Draco's jaw tightened. "I was cleared of the charges," he said through clenched teeth.

"Cleared of the charges doesn't mean innocent, Malfoy. We know the truth – the whole school does."

Draco's airway constricted slightly. 'Has Potter told?'

"You killed him," Chad continued, alleviating Draco's fears. "And we hate you for it. Everyone does."

"He was a batty old codger," Draco said impulsively, not to be intimidated. "He was a fool; the school is better off with him gone. I did the world a favor!"

Chad's eyes gleamed in the darkness. "You're going to regret that, you bastard," he whispered dangerously.

Before Draco had a chance to respond, Chad's fist came flying through the air. It landed on Draco's jaw, sending him reeling backwards into the hard stone wall. He touched it gingerly and hissed quietly in pain. Nothing was broken, but damn, did that smart.

"And that's only a taste of what's to come." Draco could hear the smile on his voice. "Let's go, boys."

Draco felt them walk off, but stayed against the wall for a few minutes still, massaging his jaw. When he could finally close his mouth without grimacing, he pushed himself off the wall. He did not head to the dorms, however. Slowly, he climbed a long staircase that led to a place where he was guaranteed privacy.

XOX

Hermione leaned against the waist-high stone railing and looked out at the lake. It was like the surface of a Pensieve. The misty grey water dimly reflected the thin and swirling clouds of the heavens. It rippled gently, no doubt due to the giant squid that lived within its cold depths. The lake touched the horizon and bent around the Earth, continuing on infinitely. Hermione shuddered as a cool breeze wrapped around her form. She sighed heavily, Draco weighing down her thoughts.

'I did what was right,' she thought with false certainty. 'It was right to stand up for him, to protect him. I would have wanted anyone to do the same for me…Not like _he_ would have,' she thought with a frown. 'He doesn't care. He never did. He never will. He only cares about is himself and I shouldn't expect that to change any time soon, especially when regarding me.'

She gave a wistful grin. 'I wish he did, though. With none of my friends talking to me…' Truth be told, Hermione was quite lonely. It brought back her very first year at Hogwarts and the two hellish months before October – before the famous troll incident which cemented her friendship with Harry and Ron.

Even before Hogwarts, she was intelligent. She earned excellent marks at school, but never really had any friends. But what did that matter then, really? She had her parents – they loved her. And she had her books, who would never leave or betray her. Wasn't that enough?

At Hogwarts, though, her parents weren't there and her books weren't enough – she needed _people_. She realized the first week of class, thanks to Professor Snape's ever-so-subtle tactics, how off-putting intelligence actually was. Granted, Hermione was not about to downplay her brilliance, but she did realize that she needed to temper it. Harry and Ron taught her how to do that. Every year, she improved, and they unknowingly helped her along the whole time. They were such a big part of her life and now…

She wiped a stray tear from her eye. "This year is going to be incredibly difficult," she whispered to the lake.

"Yes it will be," said a voice from her side. Hermione yelped and jumped back from the rail, instinctively drawing her wand on the man who had snuck up on her.

"Easy, Granger," came Draco's deep voice, which held a hint of a smile.

Embarrassed, she put away her wand. "Sorry," she muttered, placing a hand to her heaving chest. "You frightened me."

"I've been doing that a lot lately," he said with wry humor. He hoisted himself up on the railing, eliciting a gasp and a concerned look from Hermione. "I'll be fine. Don't worry," he said, reading her mind.

She looked at him skeptically; she could not help but be anxious. "Just be careful."

Hermione turned back towards the landscape and silence descended upon the scene for a few minutes. The wind continued to entwine its soft fingers through her clothes and hair. She gasped as the full harvest moon started to rise.

"Look," she breathed.

Draco shifted next to her and inhaled deeply. Hermione stole a look at him. The orange tinted light glowed off Draco's skin, making him look warmer. The setting sun made his shaggy, platinum blonde hair look darker. The shadows, too, made his eyes look sunken, tired. It was odd, though: his eyes were sunken but his mouth told a much different story – that of a small smile.

"I've been coming out here to think since fifth year," he said, still staring at the moon. "And for this exact reason."

"It's beautiful," Hermione admitted, turning back towards the landscape. The sun was setting behind the forest, brilliant orange against black. A few bats fluttered above the trees, unsteadily swooping and diving for their evening meal.

"And so peaceful," Draco said. "It's the one place I can go when I want to be alone."

Something in Hermione's heart dropped at that moment. "I'll leave then," she said.

"What?" Draco asked, turning to her in surprise.

"You want to be alone. That's fine. I'll see you back in the dormitory." With a pained expression, she turned to leave.

"Wait, Granger." She turned towards him. "You don't have to go," he said. "I…I don't mind the company tonight."

She hesitated and returned to her place on the ledge, chancing a small smile. Another moment of comfortable silence passed, when Hermione spoke.

"I discovered this place at the end of last year, after…everything…I don't even remember how I found it; I just needed somewhere away from it all. It's so natural. I feel like I can just _be_, you know? Without any rules or obligations." She saw Draco nod out of her peripheral vision. She continued. "Like you said, it's a great place to think."

More silence.

"I know what you were thinking," Draco said quietly. Hermione looked at him, puzzled. He met her gaze. "When you left the Great Hall during dinner. And just now up here. You were thinking about me. About helping me, I mean," he said with the hint of a blush. "Whether it was the right thing to do or not."

It was Hermione's turn to look troubled. "How…how did you know?" she asked hesitantly.

"Because that's what everyone thinks when they side with me now. They don't want to be…attached…to me, or my…reputation."

In that moment, she decided something. "I don't regret it, you know," she said, looking at him steadily.

He gave her a disbelieving look and muttered, "Yeah, right."

"Honestly, I don't." Her chocolate eyes were serious, as was her tone. She was telling the truth.

"I'm happy you did," he said in a voice no louder than a whisper.

The darkness around them was nearly complete now. The moon was the only source of light, outshining the stars with its milky white light. It bathed the world in alabaster, but somehow softened everything it touched.

She sighed. Everything was so uncertain. Hermione felt like her life had started to veer out of control; like she was flying and had lost hold of the broom, and was now plummeting to the ground in a free-fall that she couldn't change or stop. What would happen when she hit the ground? She sniffled quietly, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"What are we going to do?" she asked quietly.

"I hope you're not expecting an answer," replied Draco, "because I don't have one."

"I wasn't, and I don't either. I just…God, I just wish I did." The tears came unbidden and she hung her head, trying to keep them from his view.

She was amazingly unsuccessful.

"Hey," Draco said softly, lowering himself from the railing. "Hey," he repeated, "it's okay that we don't know what to do." He lifted her chin up with his fingers, raising her tear-stained face to the moon dappled night. He chanced a gentle smile. "It's okay."

As he stroked her chin gently, something in his eyes, in the _air_, changed. As if in slow motion, he lowered his head, resting his forehead on hers. He looked deep into her eyes and, fingers still on her chin, tilted her face, her lips, up towards his own. Hermione shivered and closed her eyes.

He was so tempted to give in, to seek in Hermione the comfort he had been missing for so long. He wanted to feel her lips upon his and know that he was accepted, that he was loved, that he was _worthy_, if for only a moment.

But it was not to be.

With lips barely a hair's breadth away from hers, he stopped.

"We should go in now," he whispered against her soft-looking, pink lips. His hand dropped limply from her chin and he reluctantly backed away from her warm body. Hermione opened her eyes slowly, closing her slightly parted lips. A shudder of want trembled through Draco – he instantly regretted his decision. Her soft brown eyes remained glassy for a moment; she was still reeling from what had just happened. Or, more appropriately, what had _almost _happened.

She looked at him strangely and nodded mutely. Together, they walked back to the dormitory. The silence between them, which was comfortable on the rooftop, turned awkward and tense as they ventured further into the school. By the time they reached the portrait, both Hermione and Draco were feeling incredibly discomfited, their faces flushed with hot embarrassment.

When they reached Helga, she took one look at them and, instead of vocalizing some quip as she was prone, she simply smiled knowingly and spoke the riddle. "What if this, what if that…don't matter now, you had your chance to act. But inaction ruled and now you're stuck between what was and is, without any luck. And so I'll keep you so you can't move on, make you re-live the past though it's long gone. What am I?"

Hermione stared at the portrait quizzically. She saw Draco throw his head back, eyes closed and mouth twisted into a grimace. "Regret," he said in a grating, repentant tone. "It's regret."

Hermione snuck a look at Draco and was surprised to see that he was looking at her. Their eyes met with a flare of heat, causing her to blush and turn away in flustered embarrassment. They hurried into the dormitory and headed to their separate rooms for the night, significantly distressed about their rooftop scene.


	25. Ch 25: The Effects of Anonymity

Author's Note: I feel bad about making you guys wait so long, but I've been sincerely enjoying my spring break. Anyways! This is an incredibly fluffy chapter (yay!), but it introduces a plot point as well, so it's not completely useless. Hehe. Please read, review, and above all, enjoy!

The Effects of Anonymity

Two awkward weeks passed and Halloween had now descended upon the school. Giant pumpkins were scattered about the halls, nearing ten feet in diameter thanks to Hagrid's honed craft. While undoubtedly festive, they were a bit inconvenient at exchanges: students literally had to crawl over the great orange vegetables. The professors smiled wryly at the sight of their seventh year students gamboling and giggling over the pumpkins like first years, but did nothing to alleviate the inconvenience. They realized that a few pumpkins could truly brighten the atmosphere, especially in the dark times that were looming at every dawn.

Hermione skirted one of the oversized vegetables and stepped into a nearly-empty courtyard. She slid her bag from around her shoulders and placed it on the ground. Sighing, she reclined on the bench and looked up at the clear blue sky. A stiff wind came from the east, detaching dead leaves from their tenuous holds. They swirled and danced in the air, falling on either side of her prone form, some brushing her cheeks lightly, sending shivers down her spine. She stretched luxuriously on the bench, relishing the tensing and subsequent relaxing of her cramped muscles.

"I love the autumn," she said quietly.

She serenely stared into the sky, making shapes out of the pristine white clouds that dotted the bright blue heavens. When she tired of her game, her visage lost its contented demeanor, turning into one of contemplation. 'This has been a very weird two weeks,' she thought.

And indeed they had been. Ever since their rooftop scene, the tension between Hermione and Draco had increased exponentially. Their fights were fiercer, their silences more brooding, their laughter sharper and more strained.

'We're both obviously thinking of what happened…well, what _almost _happened, but neither of us wants to confront the issue…' Hermione blushed as she imagined how that conversation would go. 'I'm happy we haven't. Hopefully we never will...'

Slowly, the courtyard filled with more students. Realizing that class must be over, Hermione got up from her bench and walked to her dormitory. She passed Ron and Ginny on her way there, attempting in vain to make eye contact. This turned her mood quite suddenly.

'I wish they would start talking to me again,' she thought sullenly. 'Harry gave me quite a lashing via letter. You'd think that would be enough for them…' Hermione crinkled her nose slightly at the memory of Harry's harsh letter. He did not outright tell her that she was a traitor and a bad friend, but both were most definitely implied. Neither insinuation was appreciated or, in Hermione's opinion, valid.

Because of their prolonged frigidity towards her, Hermione had debated whether or not to attend the first-ever Halloween Masquerade Ball, which was all anyone had been talking about the entire week. All of Hogwarts was buzzing with costume ideas, nearly pushing Hermione to the edge. In a moment of spontaneity earlier in the week, she had ordered a costume and a mask – something in which she would be absolutely unrecognizable. The costume arrived within two days, as did her first bout of indecision. She grappled with it ever since.

'I might as well just go,' Hermione thought, walking up the stairs to her room. 'I bought a costume, I have everything all planned out…it'd be a shame to waste it. So what if I'm not with Ron and Ginny and them? The point of a masquerade is anonymity anyways!' She smiled at her logic. 'It's settled then – I'm going.'

XOX

'I can't believe I'm actually going,' Draco thought as donned his costume. He had been debating about the masquerade ball for the entire week. In the end, though, he decided to attend, if only for a little while. 'I need some amusement right now,' he thought while buttoning his shirt. 'I'm sure it's going to be ridiculous…I'll probably won't even stay for more than half an hour.'

Draco tied the black mask around his face and put on the authentic black fedora. He regarded himself in the mirror and smirked: his Don Juan costume looked perfect. His legs were encased in fitted black pants, over which was a tunic that was slightly opened at the neck, exposing a decent portion of Draco's pale and toned chest. His mask and hat sufficiently disguised his face and hair. The only telling part of him was his eyes. And though Draco knew he could change their color if he wanted, he decided against it; he rather liked his eyes.

He straightened the coiled leather whip at his side and made sure his belt was secure. With one last roguish smirk into the mirror, Draco stepped out of his door. When walking down the stairs, he noticed that Hermione's door was shut.

'The Ball started half an hour ago,' he thought, glancing at the wall clock. 'I would have heard her leave. Perhaps she's not going.'

Not knowing how he felt about this, Draco shook his head and maneuvered through the passageways towards the Great Hall. He scoped out the crowd before entering the fray.

'Some people obviously missed the point of a masquerade,' chuckled Draco. Many of his peers were still identifiable, their telling features clearly displayed. Ron's vibrant red hair was not contained at all. It had a slightly windblown look to it that completed his violently orange Chudley Cannons costume. The Patil twins did not bother to dress too out of the ordinary, opting for traditional Indian garb. Even Luna, who usually participated in such events with some zeal, was recognizable under her odd silvery veil and…_unique _headdress.

Draco spotted his old Slytherin gang and scoffed. Each was wearing a long black robe, their hoods covering their entire faces. 'Death Eaters,' he sneered. 'How completely original…'

Then, appearing from seemingly out of nowhere, came beauty incarnate. It was a girl Draco recognized vaguely, as if she had appeared to him once in a dream. 'Such an appearance would have resulted in an _amazing_ dream,' he thought. He involuntarily shuddered as he checked her out.

Her hair was a mass of chocolate brown curls adorned with black jewels that sparkled in the candlelight. Her mask was simple and stunning. It covered her forehead and most of her cheekbones and was mostly white, swirled with black and silver. The wisps almost looked as if they had been stolen straight from a Pensieve and somehow transferred onto the white porcelain. Her dress…her dress was incredible. Long black gloves reached her elbows. The top was corseted, pushing her stunning breasts up and out. Like her mask, the black fabric was delicately swirled with white, accented with silver. The rest of the dress fell to the floor in a semi-full wave. She seemed to glide instead of walk.

He reluctantly tore his eyes away from her. As his gaze hopped from person to person, he discovered that all eyes were on her: women with green-eyed envy, men with not-so-subtle desire. 'No doubt they'll all want to be dancing with her at midnight,' Draco thought. Like a traditional masquerade ball, dance partners were required to reveal their identities at midnight. 'Too bad she's going to be in my arms when the time comes.' He smirked and sidled out of the passage and into the crowd.

He weaved his way in and out of the punch-sipping students and towards the goddess who had just graced them with her presence. He observed her for a while first, watching her delicately flirt with the large group of guys surrounding her.

'She looks like a professional,' Draco thought as he watched her interact. 'Maintaining eye contact, laughing at their stupid jokes…' He saw her elegantly gloved hand alight on the lower arm of one of the boys she was talking to. 'And initiating physical contact,' he thought, impressed. 'She's good,' he smirked. 'Too bad I'm better.'

Music started to play and almost simultaneously, the group surrounding her moved two steps closer, no doubt asking her to dance. Draco saw her shake her head and smile coyly, as if saying, 'If you want to dance with me, you're going to have to work for it.'

The unworthy left and now a group of about five remained, asking, no, _begging_ her. She shook her head no once more and two more boys left. Then something happened that made Draco jump. One of the guys put his hand around her waist and pulled her close against him, subtly grinding his hips into hers. Control of the situation quickly shifted. She looked a little frightened and put her hands up against his chest, pushing herself away. But the boy was insistent. She discreetly struggled her way from his grasp and stepped back as he approached once more. He attempted to seize her again. He would have succeeded if Draco had not then captured the girl's elbow in his gentle fingers.

"There you are. I was looking all over for you," Draco said in deep voice that was still loud enough to be heard by all the other guys. The girl's eyes looked up at him in fear, an expression with which he was somehow intimately familiar. She was about to say something when Draco cut her off.

"You promised me a dance," he said seductively, stroking her elbow with a long finger and smiling. While his face was the portrait of charm, his eyes conveyed his true purpose. 'Come with me,' they said. 'Come with me and don't ask questions.'

By some sort of miracle, his ocular communication worked. Her eyes lost their frightened quality and something flashed through them that made Draco's breath catch in his chest: recognition. It disappeared quickly, so fast that he may have imagined seeing it in the first place, and she nodded imperceptibly in understanding. Her hesitation vanished and she smiled radiantly. "I'd love to."

That was all Draco needed to hear. He placed his hand on her lower back and looked back at the annoyed group of boys left standing in their place, smirking devilishly and earning glares from all. He chuckled quietly, earning a curious look from his dance partner. To the middle of the floor he steered her. Settling one hand on her waist, he began to lead her.

"Thank you for that," she said, flashing that same radiant smile, making his heart jump.

He played it cool. "You needed help. What was I supposed to do? Besides, you look amazing tonight."

She blushed and bit her lip in charming embarrassment. "Thank you," she said.

The rest of the dance was spent in silence. When another song started, the girl was snatched from his arms by one of the boys surrounding her. Draco was about to say that she would not dance with him when he felt her hand on his arm.

"Thank you, but I can take it from here."

Draco nodded silently and walked off the dance floor. He grabbed a glass of pumpkin juice (which tasted like it had been heavily spiked with Firewhiskey) and silently studied her. Jealousy filled him as she glided around the dance floor in another man's arms. He nearly screamed when he saw Ron clumsily steer her around the floor. Two dances later, he cut in, smirking as he took her from Ron's gangly grasp. They danced under Ron's angry stare for a minute, but neither noticed.

"Back again?" she teased with a coquettish smile.

"Nothing could keep me away," Draco said smoothly. He placed his hand lower on her back and pulled her in slightly. He suppressed a shudder as he felt her body heat mingle tentatively with his. Unbidden, scenes from a fantasy exploded into his mind, making his stomach drop uncomfortably again for the second time that evening.

A delicately embarrassed silence came between the two, so the girl spoke up. "I debated even coming to this," she admitted.

"Me too," Draco said, for he truly had battled with the decision all week. "But I decided yes in the end. The point of a masquerade is anonymity after all, isn't it?"

Her brown eyes lit up and she smiled. "Exactly," she said happily. "Not knowing who you're dancing with heightens the experience dramatically."

"Indeed it does," Draco replied. "Imagine a Slytherin and a Gryffindor dancing together and not even knowing!" He laughed quietly, not noticing her slightly uncomfortable chuckle. "But at midnight that will all change," Draco said as a not-so-subtle reminder. "We'll all remove our masks and then there will be no more secrets."

"And what if you find that your partner is not to your satisfaction?" she questioned carefully.

"Well, since that partner is going to be you, I'm sure I won't be disappointed."

She narrowed her eyes and grinned playfully. "So confident," she observed. "How do you know I'll consent to dance with you, or that I'll even still be here at midnight?"

"I don't," he admitted. "But I know that if you are, you'll dance with me," he said, giving her a twirl.

"And why is that?"

"My dashing good looks, disarming charm, and impeccable dance moves." He dipped her low and brought her back up slowly, gracefully. He silently thanked his mother for those dreadful ballroom dancing lessons.

She laughed beautifully, earning a genuine smile from him. The song ended with a flourish and Draco saw another guy approaching out of the corner of his eye.

"Why don't we get something to drink?" he suggested. She nodded and together they walked off the dance floor, leaving in their wake a downtrodden-looking boy, his hand outstretched towards her.

'Amateur,' Draco thought while serving his dance partner a glass of spiked pumpkin juice. They sat down together at a table and watched the other dancers in silence. Draco could not help but to compare her with all the other girls in the room. There was no contest – she was definitely the most stunning. And she was with him. It was quite the ego boost.

Draco sighed and peeked at her from the corner of his eye. 'She's familiar for some reason,' he thought absently. She sipped her pumpkin juice slowly, furrowing her brow at the unfamiliar taste of alcohol, and placed the cup delicately, discreetly, onto the table. The gesture had a restrained kind of charm to it; with each moment, Draco wanted to know her more. 'Until midnight, I suppose.'

He asked her to another dance, to which she readily agreed. The waltzes, however, were finished for the evening. In their place were fast-paced songs with hard beats, specifically designed for swaying hips and grinding bodies. The floor was packed as Draco and his mystery woman worked their way to the middle of the crowd.

'Now is the time to make my move,' he thought and smiled mischievously. She was already close, but with his hands on her hips he pulled her closer. He moved his hips with hers, into hers, letting the music guide his body. Luckily for him, she had good rhythm and moved perfectly in sync.

Sweat soon dripped down Draco's back and the girl's face was glistening sexily in the faintly-lit room. His hands were on her hips, shoulders, neck…anywhere that they could be. Her hands seemed to follow much of the same trend, to Draco's obvious pleasure. He snuck a glance at the clock.

'Twenty to midnight,' he thought. He stopped the rhythm, making her open her eyes. He took her by the hand and wove her out through the crowd.

She took a deep breath once she was released from the mob's clutches. "It's hot in there," she said fanning herself. Draco nodded in agreement.

"Do you want to go outside where we can cool off?" He was trying not to smile like a maniac, but with the way things were going…It was too perfect.

She smiled, knowing exactly to what activities such a secluded location would lead. "Sure."

Draco's heart nearly flew.

Suddenly, a thunderous crack shook the walls of the Great Hall. Something shattered and people started to scream. A ferocious gust of warm wind came from behind, knocking Draco and the girl onto their stomachs. Draco rolled himself atop her protectively and hissed as a shard of glass cut through his shirt, slicing into the skin of his back. He could feel warm blood seep across the wound as he scrambled to his feet.

"Come on," he yelled, grasping her hand. He looked back and immediately wished he had not, for what he saw made his blood run cold.

The Slytherin group who had come dressed as Death Eaters had cast the Dark Mark within the Great Hall. They stood triumphantly upon the tables, casting Stunning Spells and countless other jinxes into the confused fray. The Great Hall was a disaster area. Masks and dates were abandoned as students scrambled for their dormitories.

'I've got to do something,' Draco thought. He turned to the woman at his side. In one smooth motion, he captured her face in his hands and placed his lips upon hers. Time slowed for a moment and the confusion dissipated. In the short time that they kissed, the world disappeared. Draco's very soul soared.

He broke their embrace. "Go!" he demanded. Her brown eyes opened blearily and she looked confused. "Go now, before you get hurt!"

"What about you? Your back – it's bleeding!"

"I'll be fine. Quickly, leave!"

He kissed her fiercely once more then shoved her away. Only once Draco was sure she was safe did he turn back towards the confusion. Without a thought, he launched himself against the crowd, intent on destroying the Slytherins if he was fortunate enough to reach them.


	26. Ch 26: An Obvious Issue

Author's Note: Hey all! Nothing particular to say, except that I hope you like this chapter. Please read, review, and enjoy!

An Obvious Issue

Draco arrived back at the dormitory around three a.m. clutching a bottle of Firewhiskey. He needed it. Badly.

After being thoroughly mystified by his beautiful partner, he drew his wand and dove into the quickly dispersing crowd. The Slytherins ran when they spotted the approaching professors. With half the staff attempting to catch the fleeing firebrands and himself in a prime position to be caught and blamed for the entire thing, Draco thought it prudent to sneak off unnoticed. He thought he had succeeded, too, until a wiry hand latched onto his upper arm. It was McGonagall.

"Mr. Malfoy," she seethed, her eyes narrowed dangerously. "You have some explaining to do."

For two hours, Draco sat in her office. She grilled him over what had happened, his involvement, and what else he may have had planned for the year. He defended himself, but in vain.

"I don't even talk to the Slytherins anymore! I haven't for weeks! Surely you professors have noticed that."

"It's none of our business to meddle in who is talking to whom, Mr. Malfoy."

"Bullshit," he said under his breath.

"Excuse me?" She glared at him menacingly.

He sighed angrily. "I had nothing to do with it," he repeated for the umpteenth time.

"Surely you must have a witness then," McGonagall suggested, arching an eyebrow. "Someone who can confirm your whereabouts for the '_entire_' evening?"

"Yes," Draco replied, happy to have finally been provided a way out. "Yes, I was with a girl the entire time. She'll vouch for me."

"And who is she?"

Draco's eyes widened and his hope sank. He had never seen her face. As soon as midnight struck, so did the attack. 'And what did I do instead of see who she is?' Draco berated himself. 'I kissed her.' His body flooded with warmth at the memory, but McGonagall brought him back to his cold and cruel reality.

"Well?" she said expectantly.

"I didn't see her face," Draco said resignedly. 'But perhaps if you let me snog the entire female population of the school…'

"Well isn't that convenient?" asked McGonagall sarcastically, breaking him from his pleasant train of thought.

He bristled. "I don't know who she is, but I had no part in this!"

McGonagall was silent for a moment, perhaps contemplating what would be the most exciting way to expel him from the school. But what she said next surprised him. "Since I can neither prove your guilt nor your innocence, I will let you go, but not without punishment."

"You just said I wasn't guilty!"

"I said you could not be _proved_ guilty, Mr. Malfoy, and there's quite a difference between the two! You will serve a month's worth of detentions with me. And Ms. Granger will…"

Before she could continue, Draco interrupted. "Granger didn't come to the ball," he stated. "She didn't even leave her room. She shouldn't have to be punished for this too."

She narrowed her eyes at him again, no doubt suspicious of his behavior. Hell, _he_ was suspicious of his behavior. "Ms. Granger will be informed of what happened and the possibility of your involvement. If she feels threatened or intimidated by this, she will have the right to expel you from the position of Head Boy and be appointed a bodyguard."

"A _bodyguard_?" he asked incredulously. "What the devil do you think I'd do?"

She glared at him. "I know your tendency towards violence, Mr. Malfoy, and am not about to put the life of one of the best students Hogwarts has ever seen in jeopardy because of it. Now get out of my sight."

Draco sneered and stalked out of her office towards the kitchens, where he picked up the liquor. He was let into the dormitory without a password, which led to the state Draco was currently in: sipping Firewhiskey while pacing in front of the fire. He stared into the flames and drank, drowning away his rotten luck.

He sipped at the alcohol as he thought. 'The administration doesn't trust me…My friends are against me…I have no family…' He started to chug the whiskey violently, thinking more and more about his rotten luck. He wasn't sure which was making him nauseous. With a final angry gulp, he jerked the bottle away from his lips. 'And I never even saw her face!' He hurled the quarter-filled bottle into the fire, relishing the shatter of the glass upon the stone and the feeling of the fire burn hotter with the temporary fuel supply. His mouth twisted into a fierce snarl and the harsh firelight deepened the shadows on his face. Had anyone witnessed the scene, they would have screamed: Draco looked very much like a sadistic, evil, nearly_inhuman_ figure.

"Fuck," he whispered into the darkness. No one responded. "Fuck!" His yell was met with silence again and Draco threw back his head in defeat. He immediately wished he hadn't – the room started to spin violently. Draco groaned and twisted his fingers into his platinum hair. He made the long, unsteady trek up into his room, landing on his bed without bother to change, passing out almost immediately. That night, he dreamt of familiar brown eyes and unfamiliar soft lips, both which stirred in him a longing that he had never before experienced so strongly.

As the weeks passed, Draco frequented the kitchens more and more. The House Elves, even though they knew very well what he was up to, supplied him with as much Firewhiskey as he demanded, for it was not in their nature to disobey. Every other night, Draco stumbled into the room later than normal, creating a grand ruckus in his attempts to stay silent. The trips increased as mid-November, and the next Quidditch game, this time against Ravenclaw, approached.

'We have this game no problem,' he thought, taking another sip of the harsh brew. It slid down his throat like fire, but he handled the pain well: his gag reflex had long since diminished and his palate was immune to the terrible taste. 'No problem.'

XOX

'Fourth time this week,' Hermione thought, her lips twisted into a concerned grimace. 'This is a _major_ problem.'

Hermione looked down at him from her usual hidden spot on the landing. She kneeled on the cold wood floor and pressed her head against the railing. She wrapped her fingers around the wood and sighed. She watched for a few more minutes and flinched as the loud crash of broken glass and the sharp hiss of fire filled the room.

'He has a game tomorrow, too,' she thought. Hermione winced as he stumbled on the stairs, cracking his knees on the hard wood, but made no move to aid him or get out of sight. Making it up the stairs with some trouble, Draco spared but one glance in the direction of Hermione's door. He then stumbled into his room. She heard him flop down on the bed and start to snore loudly. She waited five minutes then got up to check on him.

Like the nights prior, she eased open his door slightly, peeking her head in first to see if he was truly sleeping. He was. Temerity gone in a flash, Hermione got down to business. It was some work rolling Draco onto his left side, but she managed to do so with minimal groaning. She positioned his head towards the floor in the likely case of his vomiting and refilled his stock of Drank-Too-Much Draught on his bedside table. She backed away to inspect her work and, satisfied, finally let her worry disappear.

'I can sleep now,' she thought in relief.

She lay in bed, Crookshanks snuggled comfortably against her chest. She absentmindedly stroked him as she thought. 'Something needs to be done about this. I need to talk to him. I'll do it tomorrow, after his game. Hopefully he'll come straight here after. I need him right minded if I hope to make an impact.'

'And if he's not right minded?' piped up the annoying devil's advocate side of her mind.

'I talk to him anyways. Or at least try. He hasn't exactly been subtle about what he's doing. He probably knows I know, so he shouldn't be surprised when I confront him. Although, he might be angry…'

With that thought, Hermione drifted off into an uneasy sleep, quick flashes of fire and metal unpleasantly pervading her unconscious.

XOX

For the fourth time that week, Draco woke to the sight and smell of his vomit on the floor. He winced in disgust and crinkled his nose at the acrid puddle of brownish liquid. A hand worked its way out from underneath the blankets and clumsily grasped his wand with unsteady fingers. With a small flick, the small puddle disappeared, as did the sharp, nauseating stench. The burning in the back of his throat, however, still remained.

Draco rolled over onto his back and grabbed his head. A splitting headache was working its way through his brain: the first warning of a nasty hangover. Without looking, his pale hand fumbled at the nightstand, this time grabbing a small blue vial. He was careful to look at the label (for he had been nearly poisoned far too many times to let a detail like that slide), and swigged down the slightly salty potion. Some cool water, lying still for a moment, and silence…It was a never-fail recipe for recovery; Draco began to feel better almost immediately.

Now capable of semi-rational thought and precise movement, Draco rose and started to prepare for the day's Quidditch match. He took his chocolate on the balcony, where he found conditions to be slightly less favorable than the last match. The sky was covered in grey clouds and a cold, stiff wind was blowing from the west. Draco smelled a hint of precipitation in the atmosphere, but whether it was rain, snow, or a dreaded mixture of both was uncertain.

'Whatever the case, it will not be fun to fly today,' he thought, staring out at the roiling clouds. 'But at least this should be an easy match. Ravenclaw won't be too much of a problem.'

He changed into warm underclothes and left his room. He glanced at Hermione's door, contemplating for a moment whether or not to wake her. But as soon as the thought flitted into his head, it flew back out.

'She hates flying. She hates Quidditch. More than either, she hates _me_. Her team isn't even playing today…the Weasel is the only reason she goes in the first place. No,' he shook his head, thinking again of the ominous weather, 'I'll let her sleep.'

He did not like to admit it to himself, but his heart dropped as he walked closer to the pitch for the four p.m. game. The fact that now almost the _entire_ audience would not mind seeing him plastered to the wall of the stands weighed heavily upon his thoughts. His mood was made even grimmer by the rain/snow mixture that the sky was throwing down on him.

"Shit," he said under his breath as he walked into the locker room. His teammates must have been thinking along the same lines. Everywhere he looked, Draco spotted grim faces and hopeless head shakes.

'No matter how I feel, I can't have my team walking out onto the field like this.'

His sharp, forced laugh broke the silence. "We're the better team and we feel like this…Imagine what's running through Ravenclaw's head." He finished the statement with an evil smirk and gave his team time to dwell on the truth of this statement. Soon, malicious and competitive smiles appeared on their faces and Draco finished his short pep speech. Madame Hooch called the teams onto the field and seven green blurs shot from the locker room, taking a turn around the stadium.

Draco landed and stood in front of Madame Hooch, awaiting the standard formalities of the pre-match. He was tightening his gloves when he heard the Ravenclaw captain land in front of him.

"Draco," came a familiar voice from the rain.

He looked up and smirked. "Chad," he greeted in the same cool fashion.

"You would do well to remember my little…_tip_." Draco guessed it was supposed to be a threat.

"We'll see," he responded nonchalantly. Chad was about to retort when Madame Hooch came up. The rules were explained and the two captains shook hands harder than was necessary. Up in the air they went. The Snitch and Bludgers were released, then the Quaffle was thrown. The game began.

Draco rose above the rest and started searching for the Snitch as quickly as he could. The wind and rain stung his cheeks unpleasantly, like tiny pinpricks piercing every inch of exposed skin.

'In these conditions, neither team will last long. Mine just has to last longer.'

He looked back over his shoulder to see Chad trailing him, obviously keeping sight of both Draco and a possible sighting of the Snitch.

'He can't do both perfectly,' Draco thought. 'He's going to have to choose which is more important. And I know exactly how to do so.' He smirked and laid flatter on his broom, picking up speed in the blustery weather.

Mimicking his action, Chad sped up. Certain he was the better flyer, Draco dove into the melee of the game. He dodged a Bludger and almost got hit in the head with a poorly-thrown Quaffle. He heard a muffled roar of outrage as the Slytherins scored the first goal. The lead would mean nothing, though, if they had to continue in this weather. Draco flew down the field, weaving in and out of the goalposts and blasting back up above the chaos as Slytherin scored again.

He slowed down and looked over his shoulder. Chad was still tailing him.

'Excellent,' Draco thought. 'He's in this for the long-haul.'

In the next five hours, Ravenclaw scored eleven goals. Slytherin answered back with thirteen of their own. Slytherin had the advantage, but it was still close. The weather was getting worse, if possible, and the players were getting tired.

What little light there had been was nearly extinguished when the sun set. It was difficult to see, as evidenced from the sickening crunch and cry of pain that came from below him.

'Bludger, no doubt,' he thought, hoping the affected player wasn't on his team. 'I have to be careful.'

As time passed, Draco noticed that the majority of the crowd was no longer following the game below him. Instead, they were watching him. Draco tried his best to ignore the attention, but he could feel the hate of the audience burn through his robes and into his skin. He should have been used to it, yes, but he could not shake the terrible feeling.

'There is not one friendly face in that crowd,' he thought, giving the blurred stands a cursory glance. He sighed. 'Might as well give them their money's worth.'

He checked over his shoulder: Chad was still there. He rose higher into the air, turned his broom a complete ninety degrees, and plummeted towards the ground. The wind whipped past his ears so he did not hear the collective gasp of the audience and their consequent cheer. He pulled out of the dive at the last second, feinting perfectly as before. Regaining his hearing, he listened intently for the sickening crunch. Instead, he heard the announcer's voice.

"…the upset win over Slytherin! Ravenclaw comes out on top, 260 to 150!"

Draco landed with a thump, eyes wide in shock. His teammates landed around him, some walking away with their heads down on their chests Even in the semi-darkness, he saw Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle shoot him death glares. They turned away from his slowly and made their way to the locker room, their heads leaned in close together.

Two words echoed throughout Draco's mind, pervading each and every corner as he saw the three boys' scheme: bloody hell.


	27. Ch 27: An Interesting Misconception

Author's Note: Hey all! I know I didn't give you much last chapter, so I thought I'd be nice and update super-quickly with the next one. I'm nervous for it, but excited to know what you all will think. Read, review, and enjoy!

An Interesting Misconception

The fire popped loudly. The noise startled Hermione, who tore her eyes away from her book and looked around the room. Contrary to what she expected, she saw no one. Despite being wrapped up in a warm fleece blanket in front of the fire, Hermione shivered. She laid her head back on the couch and closed her eyes, soaking up the warmth of the room.

'I wonder how Malfoy's game went today,' she thought absently, not realizing that he had been away for five hours. 'Who were they even playing? Ravenclaw? I think they're an easy team. Aren't they?' She chuffed quietly in amusement. 'Ha, like I know.' She looked back into the pages of her book, but now that her attention had been distracted she found it impossible to concentrate.

'I should start thinking about what I'm going to say to him, Hermione thought. I can't lose my temper. I need to be calm and rational. He needs to see that his drinking is a problem and that I want to help him.'

She started running through possible dialogues in her head. 'Malfoy, why don't you take a seat? We need to talk. No, that's dumb. I know about your drinking, Malfoy, and I think you should stop…Because it's not healthy for you, that's why…I know you don't care, but I do. Ack, no, that's way too corny. Malfoy, you have a problem and you…'

She got in further in her thoughts. The creaking hinges of the portrait hole alerted her to Draco's presence.

'This is it,' she thought. Hermione stood up and wrung her hands nervously; she was completely unprepared for this conversation. Her eyes widened in shock as a bloodied hand grasped the inside of the portrait hole. Hermione stiffened and drew back, heart racing. As if in slow motion, the rest of Draco's body appeared from behind the portrait.

Like his hand, the rest of him was similarly marked. Blood was matted into his hair and his lip was split. His nose looked almost completely broken; Hermione could tell it had been bleeding profusely. Something that came as no surprise to her, though, was the presence of the half-filled Firewhiskey bottle he clutched. He tumbled in over the portrait hole, nearly falling flat on his face.

"Draco," she breathed and rushed over to him, steadying him as he tried to stand up straight. He put an arm around her shoulder and leaned into her, nearly bringing her to the floor with his unsupported weight.

" 'Ermione…" he slurred. "I don't need your 'elp. Lemme go."

"Let's go over to the couch, Draco, okay? Can you walk with me now?" she said gently.

"No," he said, staying firmly planted. "I don't need the couch. I don't need anyfing. Except this wall…right here," he said and leaned against it. He took a long pull from the whiskey bottle. He hissed as the alcohol sluiced into an open cut, but drank on.

"Here," Hermione said gently. "How about you give me the bottle, okay Draco?" She reached tentatively towards the glass, but he jerked it from her grasp.

"No, ge' your own."

"Draco, let me see the bottle." In a tricky maneuver, she reached across his chest and held one of his arms while prying the bottle from his stubborn fingers. He stilled beneath her touch, allowing her to grab the bottle and set it on the table. She met his eyes and saw an odd emotion run through them. It was something akin to shame and longing, but for what Hermione was hesitant to discover.

Without a word, she summoned the balm from the cupboard and started applying it to his various wounds. She fixed his broken nose and did a fairly good job, she had to admit. When he was finally blood and pain free, Hermione spoke softly.

"You need to stop, you know that, right?"

Her tone was sobering. Draco's eyes sharpened and he looked at her dangerously. "Stop what?" he snapped.

"You know what," she said seriously. "This…drinking. It's not healthy, Draco. You don't need it."

"How would you know what I do and don't need?" he yelled. "You don't know anything! What I've had to put up with this year, what I've gone through..."

"Who do you think has been the one cleaning up the mess?" Hermione struggled to keep her voice low, but could not help the fierce sincerity lacing each word. She looked at him plaintively, her brown eyes shining in the low light. "I've been here the entire time. I've seen what's happened to you and I haven't asked about it."

"It's none of your business anyways!"

"It's becoming my business. Draco, _talk_ to me. What's been going on?" He looked hesitant. Her voice softened and she put her hand gently on his arm in encouragement. "Please." She was surprised it worked.

Draco looked at her with mostly-sobered eyes, his mouth contorting into a grimace. "Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle," he spat. "They've been doing this."

"The entire time?" she said incredulously. He nodded. "But why? How?"

"I'm laying low this year, which isn't what they wanted to hear. I didn't have a plan and they got angry. And this is what they've been doing." He shrugged apathetically.

Hermione was dangerously close to tears. It was like he didn't care. His friends, or the closest things to them, had turned on him. And, so unlike Hermione, he was entirely apathetic towards the situation. His indifference frustrated her.

"Why don't you fight back?"

His answer confirmed her thoughts. "What's the point? There's three of them and one of me."

"But you're obviously the better spell caster," Hermione said. "Surely you'd be able to defend yourself!"

"What's the use!" Draco threw his hands up in the air. "I'd just get into trouble. It wouldn't change anything anyways. It'd only make it worse."

Hermione looked at him quizzically and shook her head. "Who are you?"

Draco looked at her like she was mad. "Excuse me?"

"Who are you?" she repeated, getting more irritated by the second. "You're not the same person. You used to be cocky, confident, conniving…You used to control everyone around you. And while it was absolutely infuriating, I think this _apathy _could very well be worse. What the hell happened?"

"What happened?" Draco pushed off the wall and advanced on her, gesticulating angrily. "I helped _kill_ Dumbledore! I ran away from the Dark Lord and my family into the arms of the Order! I alienated the only people who tolerated me! I ruined my chances of survival at this school! That's what I've done! Those things changed me, Granger!" By this point, they had changed positions. Hermione's back was now up against the wall with Draco blocking all means of an exit.

She was quiet for a moment. "I still don't get why you don't fight back," she said with quiet anger.

He heaved a sigh of frustration. "I deserve it, alright?" He kept eye contact, despite the sadness glistening in their stormy gray depths. "I deserve everything I get this year," he said, his voice quietly cracking. "And fuck if I'm going to do anything against it."

Hermione's eyes stung. The raw emotion in Draco's voice touched her heart. Instinct then took over. She did the only thing that felt natural: she pulled Draco into a hug.

Any other time, Draco would probably have shoved her away in disgust, maybe even attempted to hex her. But the alcohol made him over-emotional. He relaxed into her embrace, wrapping his arms around her and burying his head into her shoulder. She could feel his body shake with unreleased emotion.

For what seemed like hours, they stayed like that. Hermione thought of nothing all the while, focusing instead on infusing all the comfort and hope she could into this broken boy. He pulled away from her eventually and looked at her with sorrowful eyes, hands unconsciously caressing her waist.

"You don't have to do this," he said quietly.

"Yes, I do," she said. She placed her hand on his cheek and smiled at him gently. "You don't have to be alone in this, Draco. I can help you."

Eyes expressionless and mouth in a serious line, he nodded.

Silence settled between them. It became awkward quite quickly.

"You should get some sleep," Hermione said in no more than a whisper when the hush became unbearable.

Draco's hands dropped from her waist; Hermione noticed their absence immediately and with a small twinge of disappointment. "Yeah, perhaps I should."

"Goodnight."

She stayed leaning against the wall as Draco moved towards the stairs. She saw him stumble no less than three times and fumble with the railing once he got there. Fearing he would fall, Hermione called out to him.

"Wait." Draco turned around unsteadily and regarded her with confusion. She was at his side and gripping his arm in a flash. Draco rolled his eyes and almost fell. Hermione gripped his arm tighter and pulled him upright, involuntarily laughing. He smirked at her in response. Together, they walked up the stairs and to Draco's room. She grabbed the empty blue bottle on his nightstand.

"I'll go refill this while you change," she said.

Draco stopped rummaging through his bureau and looked at her. "_You've_ been giving me that?"

"What did you think it was? Magic?" she teased. Draco rolled his eyes once more. "Get changed," she laughed lightly. "I'll be right back."

After refilling the potion, courtesy of the cauldron she was storing in a corner of her room, she knocked on Draco's still-closed door.

"Come in," he said.

He was standing in the middle of his room, wearing only a pair of pajama pants set low on his hips. Hermione blushed and struggled to maintain her composure. She kept her eyes steadfastly on his face, not letting them wander down his pale chest. As she walked closer to him, however, the temptation became stronger.

Her eyes flickered down to his torso for only a moment, but that moment almost sent her to the floor. His chest was lean and well-muscled with a clearly defined six pack and a V-shape that accentuated his pelvis. The thick scar that ran across his chest did not mar his skin so much as it gave him character – a story. It made him even more intriguing…even more intoxicating. Her breath hitched in her throat and she whipped her head back up. She heard him chuckle softly.

Hermione shoved the potion at him, looking at everything else in the room except him. He took the potion from her slowly, purposefully trailing his fingers across her hand.

'Oh, that's not fair,' she thought as she repressed a shiver. Not knowing if he drank the potion or not, she heard him set the vial down on the table. When she lifted her head to check, she was face to face with Draco's well-defined collarbone. She looked up at him and met his eyes.

His eyes narrowed slightly. "You look familiar…" he said, more talking to himself than to her. "So familiar…" He reached out and touched her face. Hermione was tempted to recoil, but his eyes held her steady. Slowly, tentatively, he bent his head and kissed her. It was nothing elaborate, but it must have been enough. Withdrawing, he looked into her half-opened eyes, narrowed his own in thought, and kissed her again, deeper this time, opening his mouth and letting his tongue glide across her lower lip.

Despite herself, Hermione gave in. She pressed herself against his bare chest and wrapped her hands around his neck. She felt his hands move down her back to her hips, which he pulled against his.

The implications of this gesture brought Hermione back to reality. She gasped and dropped her hands, using them to propel herself away from his chest. She stepped away slowly, looking at him like he was a stranger.

"I – I…This isn't right. You're drunk," she accused. "You don't know what you're doing…I have to go." She quickly turned and fled the room, leaving Draco in the middle of the room very much aroused and very much alone.

XOX

Draco watched her leave, not blaming her in the least, cursing his body and the lack of control he seemed to have over it.

'She's scared,' Draco thought, still staring at the door. 'Hell, so am I…'

After he showered and took care of business, he lay in bed. He rolled over and looked at his nightstand. The moonlight faintly illuminated the blue bottle, which had been empty ever since she gave it to him.


	28. Ch 28: Hogsmeade

Author's Note: I really have nothing to say other than you guys are awesome! All your reviews make me feel so very, very appreciated. Really, thank you. 

Hogsmeade

The rest of November passed without incident. Neither Draco nor Hermione brought up what happened, what _actually_ happened that night; Hermione because she did not think Draco remembered it and Draco because he knew Hermione did. And with neither broaching the subject, they were somehow able to surpass their initial awkwardness and return back to the fighting, sarcastic, but still supportive non-couple they made. 

They had resumed practicing their Transfigurations together, clearing a spot in the common room every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday night. Both were a bit rusty initially but after about an hour of practice they achieved partial transformations quickly. Neither could yet manage a full metamorphosis. 

December rolled in with a blanket of snow. On the first Saturday, which was also their second Hogsmeade trip, the ground was coated with a thick, fluffy layer of it. Hermione looked out of her window and was nearly blinded by the brilliance of the early morning light reflecting off the intense white. She smiled and quickly donned her winter gear. She yelled to Draco as she was going down the stairs. 

"Malfoy, come on! It's time to go! McGonagall let you out of doing rounds once. I don't think she'll be too keen on letting you skip out again!"

"Alright, alright!" he yelled as he was closing his door. "I'm coming. Don't be so pushy."

"Don't be so slow," she joked. 

He rolled his eyes at her and she stuck out her tongue at him. Together, they left the dormitory, bidding Helga goodbye as they made their way through the passageway.

"I have yet to see Salazar guarding the portrait hole," Hermione remarked as they twisted through the dark corridor. 

"I'm sure he has better things to do than to wait for us all day," Draco said. 

"A portrait with something better to do? Whatever could that be?"

Draco shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe he's…No, Granger," he said, grabbing her elbow. He pulled her to the left tunnel. "It's this way." Hermione let out an embarrassed chuckle and Draco continued. "Maybe he's just too good for portrait hole guarding," he suggested. 

Hermione scoffed. "That's the problem with you Slytherins," she said. "You always think so highly of yourselves. Well Malfoy, sorry to break it to you, but you're not all that great."

"Oh no?" he questioned, humor evident in his voice. "And what makes Gryffindors any better?"

Hermione turned and walked backwards so she could look at him properly. "Oh come now, I don't really even have to say. Everyone knows the reasons: loyalty, bravery, nobility…We're just intrinsically superior," she said with a wink. 

Draco let out a short laugh, as did Hermione. Their banter continued until they reached the exit. They then sobered up and listened to instructions from McGonagall. 

"You are allotted two hours of personal shopping time, to be used whenever you wish," she said. "For the rest of the day, you are to patrol the hidden places of Hogsmeade to make sure students aren't getting into trouble. If you happen upon a disturbance, you use discretion and handle the situation appropriately. And above all, you must stay together at all times. I'll not have one Head running off while the other takes all the responsibility," she finished, looking pointedly at Draco. "Now go," she said with a dismissing wave and a stern look, "and have fun."

XOX

Draco shifted the bags he was carrying to his other hand. Though he had not bought much, even the smallest parcels started to get annoying after walking around for four hours. It snowed on and off almost the entire time they patrolled. It had just started up again. Huge flakes gently floated from the sky, speckling all pedestrians with white. 

"At least it's not windy," Hermione said, looking up at the sky. Snowflakes landed on her eyelashes. The melted water beaded on them prettily, making her brown eyes shine. Draco stopped himself from staring just as Hermione turned her head to him. 

"Do you want to go get a Butterbeer?" she asked him. 

"And miss rounds?" he asked with mock incredulity.

Hermione smiled indulgently. "I'm sure a few minutes couldn't hurt. We're supposed to be back at school soon anyways. Most of the students have already left. Aren't afraid to bend the rules a bit, are you Malfoy?"

Draco laughed sharply, grey eyes shining with mirth. "Bend the rules? Granger, I was born to break them." 

She laughed as they walked into The Three Broomsticks. Hermione found a table as Draco grabbed their drinks. He gratefully sat down into the chair, setting the bags on the floor at his feet. He took a sip of the brew, which warmed him almost immediately. He relaxed into the back of his chair and unbuttoned his coat. 

"So today was good," Hermione said, sipping her drink. 

"Yeah, it was," Draco admitted. He was surprised it was true. After McGonagall sent them off, they spent about an hour patrolling. Then Hermione wanted to shop. They walked into the various stores – Hermione picking up Christmas gifts for the friends who were still not speaking to her. Draco glanced furtively at her purchases, trying to nail the gift to the receiver. It was easier than he thought.

'A book of offensive and defensive spells…that must be for Potter. Broomstick polish. That's for Weasley, no doubt. Earrings for the little Weasley, a picture frame for her parents…'

Draco looked down at his pathetic purchases: a few new quills and a refill of his potion ingredients. The want of friends hit him hard just then, almost hurling into a bad mood for the rest of the day. Then, something caught his eye. He looked at it quizzically, debating. 

"I'm going to wait outside, alright Malfoy?" she asked. 

"Alright," he said, distracted by what he had found. "I'll only be a few minutes."

True to his word, ten minutes later Draco emerged from the shop, one more parcel in his bag. He did not see Hermione anywhere. 

'Where the devil did she go?' he thought, scanning the light crowd of students. Her bushy brown hair was no where to be seen in any direction. Just as Draco's concern started to heighten, he saw Hermione walk up to him with a flushed face. 

"Sorry about that," she said. Draco raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "There was one last thing I wanted to pick up." She said this with a small smile on her face. It made Draco slightly suspicious, but he ignored the feeling. They went to Honeydukes next and bought more sweets than should be allowed.

Their shopping time used up, they continued patrolling, making casual conversation and occasionally breaking up snowball fights. 

"A successful day, too," said Hermione, bringing Draco from his memories. "I got loads of my Christmas shopping done."

Draco made a noise in the back of his throat. "Yeah, I saw that," he said, trying to keep the hint of depression out of his voice. 

Hermione seemed to realize her faux-pas and blushed slightly. She took a sip of Butterbeer and cleared her throat. Just as she was about to say something, Draco saw a hand come down on her shoulder. Immediately on his guard, he looked up to see who was intruding on their conversation. 

"Orman," Draco greeted coldly. 

Channing ignored Draco's frigidity. "Hermione," he said. "What a coincidence in seeing you here!"

"Oh, hello Channing!" she said in almost too bright of a voice. "Malfoy and I were just having a drink, but I think we'll be leav-"

"Well!" he interrupted loudly, "you won't mind if I join you for a bit then?" Without waiting for an answer, he summoned a chair and took a seat between them. He turned towards Hermione, fully cutting Draco off from any potential conversation. 

They spoke in low voices. Draco was perfectly still, desperately trying to hear their conversation, and succeeding more than he thought he would.

"Have you gotten any work done on your assignment?" he asked. 

"Yes," she replied, "a little."

"Good, good. And anything else on the old one?"

"No," she said simply. A marked silence hung in the air, as if Channing were expecting more of an answer. When she said nothing further, Channing continued. 

"Everything is good back at the Order. Although I suppose you knew that." She nodded. Channing continued. "I'm happy to know that you're getting work done. You don't know how important this is, Hermione. Whenever you really pinpoint something, please tell me."

"I will," she said. 

"Good. Well, I should be leaving now." 

It was difficult for him to see, but Draco thought Channing was reaching towards Hermione's face. 

"Hermione," he heard him whisper. 

"Channing, please…"

"Shh," he said. Draco heard Hermione whimper as Channing kissed her. 

He could take it no longer. Draco slammed his Butterbeer down on the table, the golden mead frothing out of the cup and spattering the back of Channing's coat. He stood up so quickly his chair toppled over. It clattered to the floor with a series of echoing bangs. The attention of the entire establishment was on him as he stormed out of the building, trying his hardest to slam the door. 

XOX

What happened at the hospital wing replayed in Hermione's mind the entire time she was talking to Channing. She was afraid he would do it again. It was looking as if she would escape his affections until he grabbed her arm. He leaned his head close to hers. 

"Channing, please…" she said, shaking his head subtly at him. He looked at her and his eyes narrowed and darkened.

"Shh," he said. He squeezed her arm painfully under the table as he pressed his lips forcefully to hers. She could feel her arm start to bruise under his tight hold, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. Hermione could not help but to whimper in pain. Just then, she heard Draco jump up from his chair and leave with much ado. 

She pulled away from Channing and regarded him with fear-filled eyes. 

"Stop it, Channing," she whispered to him in a shaky voice. "Please, just stop."

She quickly grabbed her packages, and Draco's as well, and rushed out of The Three Broomsticks, ignoring him as he called her name. She almost fell as she stepped out onto the icy doorstep, but a strong hand caught her arm before she hit the ground. 

"You have some explaining to do, Granger," Draco hissed in her ear as he steered her towards Hogwarts. 

"Not here, Malfoy," she pleaded, eyes still shimmering with tears. "Please, don't make a scene." Already people were staring in their direction. 

He looked hesitant, as if making a scene would be the highlight of his day. "Fine then, when we get back to the room."

They never traveled so quickly. Arriving at the portrait hole in record time, they quickly answered Helga's simple riddle and ignored her arched brow. Hermione barely had time to remove her scarf when Draco pinioned her against the wall. She shook like a leaf in a strong wind, the walk doing nothing to sooth her agitated nerves.

"What the hell was that, Granger?"

"I don't know," she replied in a tremulous voice. 

He slammed a hand against the wall near her head, causing her to jump and look away from him. Tears sprang to her eyes once more.

"I'm sick of your bullshit answers, Granger! It's time to own up! Why the hell did you let him kiss you?"

"I didn't let him!" she defended, cheeks red with indignation. "He just did!"

"And you couldn't have told him no?" Draco yelled. 

"I did!"

"So struggling was out of the question, then? Is that it?"

"No, it's just that…"

"Ha!" he barked. "Quite a fight you were putting up then," he mocked her. 

She yelled in frustration and yanked up the sleeve of her sweater. "This is why!" The medium-sized bruises on her arm were obviously fresh, just beginning to turn a light shade of blue-ish purple. 

Draco stopped his ranting and grabbed hold of her arm, pulling it closer to his face. His eyes widened in realization and he looked up at her. Tears spilled from her eyes and down her face. Her lower jaw quivered as she quietly confessed, "I was scared." 


	29. Ch 29: Mending and Breaking

Author's Note: Hello lovelies, and Happy Easter to those who celebrate it. Here's a new chapter, partly as an Easter treat and partly because **this story needs your help**!!

"An Aversion to Change" has been nominated for a **Dramione award** on LiveJournal and **needs (first) a second nomination** and (then, if I get seconded) votes!! So, I think you should check out **the link posted in my profile** and 1) nominate me again and 2) read some of the other stories on there! The authors they've featured are really talented and totally deserve your love.

And now that the obscenely long author's note is finished, here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

Mending and Breaking

Draco felt _murderous_. Absolutely _murderous_. Channing Orman – that sleazy, no-good, suspicious, _lecherous_ git – had gone too far. _Way_ too far. It was different way back in October, when Channing had kissed her in the hospital wing. In fact, Draco had been pretty thoroughly convinced that it was _Hermione_ who had initiated such affections (even though the thought of her lips on that undeserving prick's was enough to make him simultaneously livid with anger and sick to his stomach). At that point, though, Draco hadn't suspected foul play. What reason did he have?

But after seeing those bruises…Well, _now_ Orman's intentions were unmistakable and Draco found himself wishing very evil things upon the conniving bastard. As much fun as it was to imagine the torture he would put Orman through next time Draco saw him, there were more pressing matters that needed attending; namely, Hermione. She had taken a seat on the couch and was bent forward, head nearly touching her knees and fingers absently rubbing the fresh and tender bruises.

Mouth in a grim line, Draco summoned a House Elf and requested a pot of tea. Thirty seconds later popped the same House Elf with a tea tray. Another one was close behind with a plate of butter cookies. They set them on the table, bowed, and blushed as Hermione woke from her reverie and thanked them.

Draco fixed her tea (cream with one sugar – the knowledge was somehow nearly instinctual) and handed it to the worn-looking girl, who sipped it slowly while staring into the fire.

The implications of what had happened in Hogsmeade hung heavily in the air. The silence was uncomfortable for a moment. Draco still knew no words of comfort or condolence, so he did the next best thing he could think of: changed the subject. "So, what missions were Orman talking about?"

This, predictably, was not the right course to take. Hermione looked up from her tea and regarded him with an icy stare. "You were eavesdropping. That was a private conversation, Malfoy."

"It was in a public place, Granger," he shot right back.

She ignored him. "It was none of your business," she said. "You're not part of the Order, nor will you ever be."

"So I'm going to be kept out of everything?" Draco asked, somewhat foolishly. "What if I can help you?"

"Unless you confess that you're actually working for Voldemort, you are of no help to me," Hermione said.

"That was one of your missions?" Draco inferred sharply. "To get information out of me?"

"Yes," she replied. "But I wasn't getting anywhere, so they assigned me a different task."

"What is it?" Draco asked quickly.

"None of your business," Hermione repeated sternly, taking another sip of tea.

"You still don't trust me?"

"You haven't done anything to earn my trust, Malfoy," she said, frustration evident in her voice. "What have you done since I've been here? _Insulted_ me? _Attacked_ me? _Beat_ me? Yeah, you're right. I should definitely trust you after all that," she said sarcastically.

Each accusation struck Draco at his core. It was true. All of it was true. But then again, so were many other aspects of their cohabitation, aspects that could not be ignored. "We're obviously past all that, Granger," he blurted.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Are we now?" she said in surprise.

It took no more than a moment for Draco to answer. "Yes," he said, "definitely." To lie was so easy, but this was the truth – it surprised and pleased him.

Hermione leaned back onto the couch and sighed into her cup.

"So will you tell me?" Draco asked.

She regarded him evenly. "No."

Draco groaned in frustration. "Fine. But don't expect any help from me if you need it."

"I won't," she said flatly.

Their conversation ended for a full ten minutes. They sat in silence that was neither angry nor forgiving, each sipping tea and looking anywhere but each other. Despite the silence and the lack of activity, neither left the couch. Hermione sighed and broke the silence.

"Why do you think he did that?"

Draco arched a platinum eyebrow. "Why do _you_ think he did that?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione said, jerking out of her reverie. She stared into the fire and answered quietly, more like she was talking to herself than to Draco. "He's an Order member, and nearly ten years older than I. He can't want a relationship. It doesn't make sense."

"He hurt you," Draco said sternly. "I don't think it's a relationship he's looking for."

Hermione looked at him blankly.

Draco scoffed. "Oh, don't kid yourself, Granger. You know just as much as I do what he really wants."

She shook her head, brown curls flying, either refusing to believe or acknowledge the possibility. "It doesn't make sense!" she held stubbornly.

"It makes perfect sense!" Draco said, throwing his hands into the air. Before he could stop himself, out popped, "You're young, you're beautiful, and you're naive! Who wouldn't want to have you?"

Realizing what he had said, Draco jumped up from the couch angrily and stalked up the stairs. Hermione's shocked silence was punctuated only by his door slamming and the soft crackle of the fire.

XOX

The Dark Lord sat before the fire, his long white fingers forming a steeple that rested upon his high forehead. His cunning ears heard the crackle and pop of the fire. He smiled evilly against his fingers.

"It has been far too long since your last report," he said in a voice smooth as honey and deadly as arsenic. "I assume you have some significant information to report."

"Progress has been made, my Lord," said the face in the fire.

"You have broken her?"

"No, my Lord."

Voldemort's collected demeanor shattered at the confession. He roared in fury and pummeled the arm of his chair.

"I will not wait forever, _slave_. If you are unable to give me the information I require, then it is not required that you be here!"

"I told you, my Lord, _progress has been made_. Today was very…influential."

Voldemort, who had turned away from the fire in disgust, stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "Influential, you say? Tell me."

The day's story was relayed and the Dark Lord's expression grew ever more cunning.

"At least you are not a total waste of my time," he said with a small smile playing on his pale lips, "but things are not moving fast enough. We need whatever information that filthy Mudblood may possess. But know this: you are the _not_ only person who can retrieve it."

The figure in the fire picked up on the implied threat. "I will not fail you," he declared.

"You had better not," hissed Voldemort. "Now get out of my sight."

Without another word, the fire popped again and the figure was gone.

The Dark Lord chuckled to himself in the dull gray of the cave. 'She'll be his soon, he thought. And when she is, Potter will be mine!'

XOX

At first, she thought she had imagined Draco calling her beautiful, but when he could not look her in the eye for days after, she decided that she had heard him correctly.

'I almost wish I hadn't ever heard him,' she caught herself thinking in the middle of Potions. She furrowed her brow as she stared at the gently simmering cauldron. She glanced over to Draco, whose expression was quite similar to her own: a mixture of anger, confusion, and concentration. 'Life was a lot easier knowing he hated me,' she thought. 'And even not knowing where he stood was confusing, yet fine. But now…'

Hermione jumped as timers around the room buzzed angrily. She added leech skin to the potion and watched the color change from gray to bright red, just as the instructions said. She smiled at her success and, out of curiosity, glanced over to Draco again, who looked very much the same as he did before he added the leech skins. She was caught off-guard when Draco turned and regarded her with unreadable silver eyes. Her heart skipped a beat and the smile immediately disappeared from her face, replaced instead with a shade of red similar to that of the cauldron contents.

A few days later at breakfast, the Owl Post arrived in its usual flurry of feathers. Amaris, who had not been coming down lately, landed before her with a graceful thud right into her plate of fried tomatoes.

"Nice, Amaris," she said jokingly to the owl, who looked at her contritely. Hermione smiled and untied the letter from her leg. The owl crawled up onto Hermione's arm and seemed to read over her shoulder.

The letter was from Moody. It basically told her that she would be coming back to Grimmauld Place for Christmas break and to be careful of Draco's reaction to the news. Hermione set the parchment down on the table and heard Amaris hoot lowly in her ear. She offered the patient owl a piece of bacon, which she took happily in her short hooked beak. After gulping down a few sips of Hermione's water, Amaris climbed upon Hermione's arm once more, squeezed it affectionately with her talons, and was off with a breath of feathers. Hermione smiled as she watched her soar away.

She sighed and looked back towards the letter when something small suddenly crashed into the table, spattering people with yellow bits of egg and crispy pieces of toast.

"Pig!" Ron chided, reaching for the Snitch-sized owl who was trying to recover from his spill. His ears turned red with embarrassment and Hermione could not help but to let out a small giggle. Apparently, it was not small enough. After reading the letter that was attached to Pig's leg, Ron looked at her with an expression that was not one of pure annoyance. His blue eyes softened and he wore a pained expression. Hermione's smile died on her lips and her face became expressionless. She tore her eyes away from Ron and to her watch.

'I need to get to class,' she thought. Gathering her books, she made haste towards the Arithmacy classroom, then to Charms.

Later that day, when Hermione was walking down to the Great Hall, she heard someone shout her name. She stopped and turned to see who had called her. Ron was jogging up to her.

"Hermione," he said, a bit out of breath. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

His tone piqued Hermione's worry. "Why?" she asked in a controlled but urgent pitch. "Has something happened?"

"No," Ron said. His hands waved away the worry like a foul odor. "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Oh," she said indignantly, "_now_ you want to talk to me? After almost two months of silence? You choose _now_ to make amends?"

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he said, ignoring her irritation. "I was just angry is all, and I had every right to be." Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Ron cut her off with a short wave of his hand. "But," he continued. "I shouldn't have held a grudge for that long. It wasn't fair. And I'm sorry."

Hermione's eyes shone: why was she such a pushover sometimes? "You're forgiven, Ron," she said and swept him into a tight hug. "Just please, don't ever do that to me again. I missed my friends."

He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her back. "I won't," he said. "It was torture having to learn from Neville and Luna."

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Are they still mad at me too?" she asked tentatively.

"Quite honestly, I don't think they ever were," he said with a smile. "I think they were just afraid to face me on it." He grinned cockily and drew himself up proudly. Hermione laughed and playfully hit him in the stomach, deflating his ego.

"Well, that's good to know," Hermione said. "And Ginny?"

Ron's face darkened slightly. "She's more stubborn than me, if you can believe it," Ron said. "Although her anger's somewhat faded, she still can't let it go. She will eventually, though," Ron said upon noticing Hermione's small frown. "She always does."

Hermione nodded and silence hung between the two for a second. Then Ron said with a smile, "So, have you heard we're all going to Grimmauld Place for Christmas?"

Thus started a conversation that led all the way through dinner. As Hermione sat and chatted with her friends, it seemed as if she had never left. Neville still loved his plants, Luna was still as strange as ever, and Ron was his dorky, lovable self. Hermione did notice Ginny's unusual silence, but remembered Ron's words.

'She just needs time,' Hermione thought. She caught Ginny looking at her and smiled softly. Ginny, realizing she had been caught, immediately shot her a glare and went back to her mashed potatoes. 'Just time,' Hermione smiled.

XOX

Draco watched through the nook of the secret passageway, his arms folded across his chest and his blonde hair falling into his eyes. He glared at the Gryffindor table and sneered as he saw Hermione playfully shove Ron.

'So, the dream team is back together again…Whatever, good for them. It'll certainly take the Mudblood off my hands…It's been a royal pain in the arse having her about…' Draco scoffed as he recalled how nice life with her had been over the past few months.

'I won't have to put up with her infernal nagging anymore. And her stupid practice sessions…she'll finally leave me alone. I can spend the break completely alone in my room, practicing spells. Now that she's made good with them, it'll be the better for me.'

Despite his self-assurance, Draco still felt doubt worm and fester in his heart. He let his arms fall to his sides and he leaned his head back upon the cold black stone of the passage. A sigh racked his frame. Reluctantly, he turned his back on the whole of Hogwarts and walked back to his room.


	30. Ch 30: The Basement

Author's Note: Guys...There are only 12 more chapters to go...I, personally, cannot believe that this story has gone so quickly and has enjoyed such success. Again, major props to all those who read and review - you keep me going! Without further ado, please read, review, and, as usual, enjoy.

The Basement

The end of the week signaled the beginning of Christmas break. Hermione, the Weasley clan, and Draco all gathered in front of McGonagall's fireplace. One by one, the Headmistress bid them goodbye and happy holidays, and one by one, they whisked away through the chimney system. Draco sighed at McGonagall's less-than-sincere farewell to him and stepped into the chimney. With a whoosh of warm, tickling, green flame, Draco sped off and tumbled out of the Order's fireplace.

"Everybody unpack now," came Mrs. Weasley's screechy voice over the ruckus. "Ron, dear, you're with Harry." Ron smiled widely and bounded up the stairs as fast as he could with his trunk. "And Hermione, you're rooming with Ginny for the holiday."

Draco saw a look exchanged between the two girls, but both obediently headed up to the room. Draco, assuming that he was to have the same room as last time, headed towards the staircase.

"Malfoy." Mrs. Weasley's voice came floating across the room dangerously. When he looked at her and saw an old, brewing anger in her eyes, he became somewhat frightened.

'Even if she is a blood-traitor, she's still formidable,' Draco thought as she advanced upon him. Against his instincts, he did not step back.

"Malfoy, _dear_," she said in a sickly sweet voice. "Let me show you to _your_ room for the holiday."

Draco swallowed hard as Mrs. Weasley turned. She led him through the house to a door that Draco had not noticed before. She stood back and beckoned for him to enter.

"Enjoy your stay," she said with a sardonic smile. Draco sneered angrily at her back as she waddled off down the hall and disappeared around the corner.

"_Enjoy your stay,_" he mocked. "Yeah, right." He rolled his eyes and turned towards the door. It was old and gray, covered in a thick layer of dust and more cobwebs than he would have liked. "Where the devil are they putting me?" he muttered. "A closet?"

He tried to twist the old iron doorknob, but the stubborn metal would not budge. He yanked, pushed, and rattled the door, succeeding only in Mrs. Weasley banging on the walls, telling him to, "Quit that racket immediately!"

Draco fought the urge to yell back, instead focusing his energy on forcing open the dusty door. After another minute of quiet rattling, he backed away against the opposite wall and looked at his formidable opponent.

"Fine then," Draco said. He withdrew his wand and pointed it at the door. "_Alohomora._" He tried the door again, but to no avail; the heavy wood still wouldn't budge. He leaned against the wall again and thought. He tried a mélange of spells on the door: enlarging it, shrinking it, then getting frustrated and trying to blast it open. Nothing worked.

'Who the hell would make an enchantment-proof door?' Draco thought indignantly, glaring at the stupid block of wood. 'Looks like I'm going to have to do this the hard way.'

He got as close to the wall as he could. Mustering up his energy, he ran at the door. He threw himself at it with a grunt, hearing either his shoulder or the door crack upon impact. Rubbing the injured appendage, Draco readied himself for another blow. He ran at the door and just before impact, heard someone say his name.

"Malfoy?"

He looked away from the door and tried to stop, but it was too late. He slammed into the door, which, of course, opened immediately with no trouble at all. Draco expected to land on the floor, but to his surprise, he sailed through the air before striking a staircase. He heard a woman's scream as he bounced back into the air and landed on the staircase again with a thud. One more bounce and he crumpled upon the landing.

Air wooshed from his lungs as he hit the floor. There was an intense pressure on his chest and behind his eyes. It was like a boot was being pressed against his sternum, not allowing him to take a breath. What felt like a century later, searing air came rushing back into his lungs. His head spun and warm blood gushed into his eyes. His arm hurt terribly and he tried to move it, screaming as pain shot up the damaged limb.

"Malfoy!" came Hermione's voice from above him. "Oh Merlin, don't move."

He steadfastly ignored her order and attempted to rise, causing only more blood to run down his face and another splitting pain in his arm. He hissed and fell back on the ground, eyes closed and mouth set in a fierce grimace.

Then, he felt her hands upon him. She gently rolled him onto his back and looked at him worriedly.

"Where does it hurt?" she asked, her brown eyes roving his body.

"Where does it hurt, Granger?" he asked through gritted teeth. "It bloody hurts everywhere!"

"Don't be difficult," she chided him gently. "Tell me where it hurts the most."

"Fuck," he moaned breathlessly. He made a move to curl back up into a ball, but Hermione stopped him. She took his head in her hands and placed it in her lap.

"_Tergeo_." The blood began to slowly disappear from his face, but it almost looked like the spell was of no use. The cut on Draco's head was still seeping blood.

"You have to be more careful," Hermione said softly as she held the wand over the gash. With a muttered incantation, the muscle began to knit together, then the skin. Within a minute, the cut was fully healed, with only a small pink scar as evidence of what happened. The rest of the blood was cleared from his face.

He opened his eyes in a squint and saw Hermione above him, her curly brown hair hanging on either side of her face like a veil. "What else?" she asked. Her chocolate eyes seemed to glow. Draco dropped his defensive demeanor. He shut his eyes and allowed his head to fall into her warm lap.

"My arm," he said weakly.

"Left or right?"

"Right."

He felt her lean over his body and gently take the limb in her hands, pressing it gently to locate the break. She pressed the tip of her wand against the affected area. Draco felt the briefest flutter of fear grace his heart.

"Granger, do you know what you're doing?"

"Shh," she said gently. "_Episkey_."

Draco felt his arm grow warm, almost to the point of it being uncomfortable. But as soon as the heat became unbearable, it disappeared. He wiggled his fingers experimentally and found that he could move them without screaming. Draco moved his arm slowly and tried to flex.

"It's going to be a bit stiff," she said, "but it's not broken anymore."

"Thanks," he said wearily, dropping his head into her lap once more. "You're almost better than Pomfrey."

"Well, you've given me plenty of practice," she smiled. "Anywhere else?"

"No, just let me rest a bit." Draco focused on his breathing, trying to ignore the absent-minded caresses of Hermione's hand through his hair. After a short silence, she spoke.

"You really do have to be more careful..."

"Do you think I meant to do that, Granger? If you hadn't distracted me, I never would have ended up like this," he accused.

"Oh please," she said calmly. "This would have happened if I was there or not. In fact, it's a good chance I was. Who knows how long you would've been down here without help?"

Draco did not want admit it, but she was right. He could have died from blood loss and no one would have known until at least a few days. The thought chilled him.

"What is this anyways?" Hermione asked.

Draco opened his eyes and looked past her at his surroundings. The only light entering the gloomy room came from the open door at the top of the stairs. Other than the small patch of light at the base of the stairs, the rest of the area was dark as pitch.

"I didn't even know there was a basement," he said.

Hermione made an affirmative noise in the back of her throat as Draco attempted to survey the area. The walls were made of dark gray concrete and covered in cobwebs. The air had a moldy, old smell to it, as if the space had not been used in a long while.

"Why would they stick you down here?" Hermione wondered aloud.

Draco looked up at her. "I'll give you three guesses," he said sarcastically.

"There can't possibly be a bed," she said, ignoring his comment.

"Well, we'll never know until we look."

He pushed himself up, aided somewhat by Hermione's hands on his back. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Granger," he said tersely. He struggled to his feet and wobbled a bit. Hermione grabbed his arm to steady him.

"Are you sure?" she asked again.

He yanked his arm from her grip. "_Yes_."

Draco drew his wand and said, "_Lumos_," Hermione doing the same. Together, they explored the downstairs, going further into the darkness with only their wands to guide them.

The landing split into two directions. One was a corridor situated directly before them. The other was a wide room to their left. They ventured into the large open room first. Broken furniture lay strewed across the floor. Long gashes, presumably from a werewolf, tore the dingy gray upholstery. It smelled rank and rotten, as if something had crawled between the cushions and died. The likelihood of this being a reality crossed Draco's mind and he swallowed hard, pressing on determinately.

Giving the piles of old furniture a wide girth, they made their way into what looked to be an old laboratory. But something was off about the scene. A long steel table was situated in the middle of the room with thick black leather straps spaced periodically on the sides. Above the table hung a light and what looked to be a rather pointy chandelier. Against the far wall behind the table was a long, filled bookcase. Abutted against it on the other wall was a rudimentary potions set.

Draco walked closer to it, feeling Hermione leave his side. He walked over to the potions set and shone the light upon it. An old rusted cauldron sat there, half-filled with something green and solidified. Ladles, knives, mortars, and pestles littered the surface. Deep gash marks covered the table. He ran his fingers slowly over them, silently wondering what had happened there.

"Malfoy," Hermione called to him from the other side of the room. "Come over here for a second."

He dragged himself away from the potions kit and his musings to where Hermione stood. A panel of ancient switches was mounted to the wall in front of her. None were labeled.

"What do these do?" she asked.

"I don't know. I wonder if they still work…" Draco said, reaching out towards one slowly.

"Draco…" Hermione said in a warning and worried tone.

He ignored her. His finger found a switch. With a deep breath, he applied pressure, feeling it give way with an audible click. For a second nothing happened; Draco was able to release the breath he had been holding. Suddenly, the chandelier behind him started whirring violently. Hermione gasped loudly and grabbed hold of Draco's arm as they both spun to watch what was happening.

What they thought was a chandelier turned out to be something much different than either had anticipated. The mechanism lowered itself from the ceiling, spinning quickly. As it neared the table, it slowed. It was only then that Draco and Hermione were able to get a clear look at what they mistook as lights.

"Needles," Hermione gasped, her grip on Draco's arm tightening. The machine stopped and glinted evilly in their flickering wandlight. "This is a Muggle contraption…Draco, this place…do you think it was used for…"

He looked her in the eyes steadily. "Torture?" he finished. "Yes."

Hermione turned fearfully back towards the table. Draco swore he heard faint screams closing in on them and thought he saw a brief flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Hermione's head whipped in that direction and her grip on his arm tightened; whatever it was, she had seen it too.

"Let's go, Hermione," Draco said, backing away slowly.

She did not resist as they ventured back to the lit landing.

"There's no way you're sleeping down here," she said firmly. "That room…" she shuddered involuntarily. "You can't."

"I don't have much of a choice, Granger," he said. "And we haven't checked out this corridor yet. It could be better."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at his optimism and looked skeptically down the black hallway.

"Again, it's not like I have much of a choice," he said, and started to walk down the hall. Hermione, who was not to be left alone, followed closely behind him. The corridor had about seven doors: three on each side and one at the end. At the first door, Draco put his hand on the knob.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" asked Hermione.

"I need a room," he answered simply.

'That, and I'm curious now,' he thought. 'What other secrets does this house hide?'

The door opened without a fuss, leading into what looked to be a fully-furnished, but filthy, guest bedroom. A bed, a dresser, a closet, and a bathroom were all included and in surprisingly good shape.

The other six rooms held the same, each with its own style of ugly décor. Unfortunately, windows were out of the question, so each room was dark, dingy, and utterly depressing.

"Well, I guess I'll just take the first room then," he said, going back out onto the landing to fetch his trunk while Hermione stayed in his room. In the short time he was gone, she had started to clean his room, unleashing an entire batch of "_Scourgify"_s.

"You didn't have to do that," Draco said.

"I don't mind," she replied. Then, after a minute: "You shouldn't have to stay here." She regarded him seriously.

Draco shrugged. "It's payback for that little petrifaction prank I pulled last summer, I'm sure. I deserve it."

Hermione blushed slightly but said, "No one deserves to be down here…It's terrible. There aren't even any windows."

"It's better," he countered. "I won't bother anyone down here. I won't get in the way. With any luck, they'll all just forget about me and I can have a peaceful holiday."

Hermione looked at him compassionately, then back out the door. Her expression turned to one of resignation and she mumbled a hesitant, "Okay…"

"I'll be fine, Granger," he assured her.

Draco heard her name shouted from upstairs. "You'd better go. I'm sure Scarhead would like to see you," he said with a sneer, attitude changing abruptly.

Hermione looked affronted for a moment. Then, she lifted her head proudly in the air and, without a word, walked out of the room and up the stairs. Once Draco was sure she had left, he sat down on the bed, a plume of dust rising like a small mushroom cloud from the comforter. Not bothering to conjure candles, Draco closed his eyes and put his head in his hands, loathing the darkness around him.


	31. Ch 31: Christmas

Author's Note: Welp, nothing really to say on my end, except that I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Christmas

"Needles, Hermione?" asked Harry incredulously.

"Why would there be needles downstairs?"

"For the millionth time, I don't know, Ron," Hermione said, sighing and sitting down on Harry's bed. "I was hoping you two would have some ideas."

"You don't think the Order…" started Ron. He trailed off, and everyone in the room got the implication.

"No," Harry said surely. "Definitely not."

"But we can't rule it out," Hermione said, ever the voice of reason. "Don't forget, the Order is old. Who knows what their practices were decades ago? And if those practices are still being used…"

"They would never torture people, Hermione!" Harry said fiercely. "I know they wouldn't!"

Hermione shot him a look, but said nothing else on the subject. The room descended into silence as the three tried to think of other explanations. To Harry and Hermione's poorly-concealed surprise, Ron broke the silence.

"I think we're forgetting who used to live here," he said.

"Sirius?" said Harry, rising defensively towards Ron.

"No, no!" he assured. "Sirius left here when he was just a kid anyways. I meant the Black family in general. Look at it this way: we know that they were a Pureblood family and avid supporters of You-Know-Who. What if he had them do his dirty work and torture people for information?"

"Or for fun," Harry said, obviously fully supporting Ron's idea. "I wouldn't put it past them."

"Secretly, too!" Ron continued. "Sirius never would have known; maybe even the Order doesn't!"

"Well, that's definitely another theory," Hermione ceded, choosing her wording carefully, "but I don't think we can come to any conclusions. Malfoy's down there too, though…"

"Oh, what does it matter about him, Hermione?" Ron interrupted, mood changing abruptly from elated to annoyed. "Can't you just drop it?" he asked emphatically.

"Drop what, Ronald? I only just mentioned him!"

"Yeah well, we don't really care. And if you hadn't noticed, we don't really like him all that much!"

"I only brought him up as a segue!" she said, exasperated. "Getting on to my point…I think there's something down there."

"Like what?" Harry asked.

"A ghost or a spirit of some kind, I don't know. But when I was down there with him, I saw something. I know he did too. And now he's sleeping down there with…whatever it was!"

"Why do you care?" Harry asked, giving Hermione the most remarkable sense of déjà vu.

"I don't," she said defensively. "I was just saying…"

But she did not get to say any more. Mrs. Weasley called for dinner at the bottom of the stairs, and all three practically leapt down them to the kitchen for a plate of her renowned cooking.

XOX

Draco did not want to return to the basement after dinner. He had been down there alone for only a few hours, but it was a few hours too many. It was dark. It was dank. It was dreary. And above all, it was creepy. Noises came at him from all sides and the long shadows cast by the candles did nothing to allay his fears. So, he decided to head outside after the meal.

He did not bother telling anyone what he was doing or where he was going. 'No one would notice and, if they did, they wouldn't care,' he thought as he pulled on his coat; his hat and gloves were still in his room. 'And there's no way I'm going down there sooner than I have to,' he thought, sparing a glance at the corridor that led to his subterranean residence.

He dodged the people cleaning up the kitchen and pulled open the back door. A strong gust of icy wind met his form, instantly numbing his ears and nose. For a moment, he contemplated not going out. Then he looked back over his shoulder: Fred and George, who had arrived sometime while Draco was downstairs, were hurling leftover mashed potatoes at each other, using plates as shields. He stifled a laugh as Harry got a face full of the stuff; obviously, no one was safe.

'And it would only be a matter of time before I was involved,' Draco thought as the gravy boat smashed against a wall. He hurriedly bypassed the oozing brown liquid and moved out into the driving snow. The inch or two of fresh powder that already fell compacted under his weight. He hadn't but stepped again when more snow took the place of his footprint, effectively covering his tracks.

The sky was the purple-gray, allowing at least for a bit of light. He walked around the grand backyard, along the edge of the fence and the tree line. His head was bowed and his hands were in his pockets, attempting to stay warm and un-frostbitten. He kicked at the snow as he walked, thinking of nothing but becoming frustrated anyways.

"What the hell?" he softly scolded himself. "This is all just bullshit." He looked up at the sky, white flakes landing on his blonde eyelashes. For some reason, he wanted to scream. He wanted to yell into the sky until his vocal chords ripped and he was rendered eternally mute. He wanted to fall to the ground and pound his fists into the icy earth, tear out his hair in agony, and just let out all his frustration until he was lying facedown and unconscious in the snow.

But he didn't.

Instead, Draco lowered his head and kept walking. After two turns around the yard, he stepped into the house, his cheeks wind-bitten and red. He glanced at the clock.

'Midnight,' he thought. He heard no movement. 'Everyone else must be sleeping,' he figured. 'Great. That means that I have to face the pit that is my room alone. And if I die, no one will find me until the morning, if that.' With a wry smile, he moved the book he used to jam the door (avoiding a repeat performance of earlier that day) and headed downstairs, senses heightened to the extreme and heart racing like never before.

XOX

For the week leading up to Christmas, Draco fell into a pattern that changed only slightly by day. He woke up early, eager to leave the basement. A few times, he had felt something different down there, something strange, a presence…Call it whatever, but _something_ wasn't entirely right with that basement. It was nothing more than a feeling, though, so he decided to keep quiet about it. Who would he tell anyways?

He would spend his days alone in one of the forgotten rooms of the house, reading, practicing spells, or trying to invent some of his own. For a few days, he took refuge in the den. It was invaded, though, when Hagrid came bearing a seven foot tall pine tree. The entire house then crowded into that little room, decorating it with shining ornaments, flickering lights, and silver tinsel.

Draco sneered as he walked out the den and into another back room. Unfortunately, that one had been invaded too. Apparently, Hagrid had brought another tree especially for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny: it was entirely decked Gryffindor colors. Draco barely suppressed the urge to set the tree aflame, instead opting for a more subtle sabotage. He aimed his wand at the tree and slightly modified the ornaments. Now, if the tree was looked at from a certain angle, Slytherin ornaments appeared and the tree was adorned much more appropriately with silver and green. He smirked as he saw Lupin do a double take and pocketed his wand stealthily, walking away with a grin on his face.

His days were spent studying and his nights were spent walking. He would immediately leave the kitchen after dinner and take a stroll, sometimes just sticking to the yard, other times climbing the fence and venturing out as far as he dared away from the house. No one ever accompanied him on these walks, nor even noticed he was gone to his knowledge. He thought about everything and nothing, happy for the solitude yet simultaneously depressed that no one cared. Almost every day he thought of how much easier it would be if he just left the Order, his responsibilities, and the entire wizarding world. But each night, instead of running away to Merlin knows where, he returned to his façade of a life. He went back to the basement he was frightened of in the house that he hated with the people he loathed.

'Everything's just coming up fucking roses,' he thought as he laid his head down Christmas Eve.

XOX

Hermione turned in her sleep, semiconscious but not to the point where she wanted to wake. Even if it _was_ Christmas, she was enjoying her sleep right now. Or more accurately, she was enjoying her dream. The specifics were lost in a golden fog, but Draco was in there somewhere and she was oddly happy to see him.

Suddenly, Hermione had the most acute feeling of being watched. She opened her eyes slowly only to meet a pair of startlingly blue ones. She recognized them immediately.

"Ron," she said sleepily, stifling a yawn. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Christmas, of course! Get up; there are presents and mom's cooking. Harry's waking up Ginny."

Hermione glanced over to her friend's bed. What Harry's tactic for waking Ginny was hidden from view, but Hermione had a pretty good idea of what it would involve. And Ron was blushing, which meant that he was thinking the same thing. Hermione grinned and turned to Ron.

"Well, let's go then!" she said loudly.

Ron caught the hint and said, "Yes, we'll be exiting the room very soon." Hermione rolled her eyes and allowed Ron to help her out of bed. Harry stood up with Ginny and looked at Ron.

"Race you downstairs?" he challenged.

Ron responded by bolting towards the door; the battle was on.

"I sometimes wonder about them," Hermione said with a shake of her head.

"Me too," Ginny smiled. The two girls locked eyes and the air changed, growing serious and somber.

"Hermione," she said. She looked conflicted, as if what she was about to say was very difficult. "I'm sorry." Hermione supposed it was.

Although Hermione considered giving Ginny a good tongue lashing for taking this long to come to her senses, it faded within a millisecond. They were too good of friends: they understood each other almost perfectly. And when Hermione saw the look in Ginny's eyes, she realized that Ginny missed her immensely. Her heart nearly burst with happiness. "Me too!" The two tearful girls embraced and, after having a good laugh at their idiocy, turned their heads as Harry and Ron called their names from downstairs.

Ginny shrugged and Hermione laughed, and both made their way down the wood stairs to join the excitement. Underneath the Gryffindor tree, which looked entirely resplendent in green and silver for just a second, were piled presents of various shapes and sizes, all lavishly wrapped with curled bows.

They divvied up the gifts and took turns opening them. Harry and Ron each got her a book, Ron surprising her with a Muggle novel that she had been after for a while called Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. Mrs. Weasley knitted her a dark blue sweater and Ginny gave her a set of beautiful hair clips. An obscene amount of candy topped off her pile and she smiled as she unwrapped a Chocolate Frog and watched the others open their gifts.

Harry absolutely loved the book of spells she gave him and Ron smiled widely at the Broomstick repair kit. Ginny loved the earrings, putting them in immediately. They chatted for a bit, experimenting with Bertie Bott's Beans, until Mrs. Weasley called them in for breakfast.

The group sat around the table, the Weasley twins each sporting ridiculous new knit hats, no doubt from their mother. The glint of a new watch shone from beneath Mr. Weasley's sleeve and Tonks wore a secret smile, no doubt a result of the diamond necklace Hermione saw resting around her neck. Everyone was smiling and laughing, heartily enjoying the fantastic meal Mrs. Weasley put before them.

One person was noticeably absent from the festivities, though. Draco was nowhere to be seen. Hermione looked to the coat rack and saw that his was missing, as was often the case.

'He must be out walking again,' she thought, wondering, not for the first time, where he went on his solitary excursions.

She was the only one who noticed his non-attendance, though, and made no mention of it to the others. Instead, she pushed it from her mind and enjoyed the day how she was meant to: with her family and friends.

XOX

Draco decided to celebrate in his own way. He Apparated to London and found a table in the Leaky Cauldron. He stayed for the entire day, understandably preferring to spend the holiday with the other lonely strangers in the bar than with the lot at Grimmauld Place. He ordered a Butterbeer but after one sip was sick of the sweet and comforting brew. He signaled the bartender over again and ordered a Firewhiskey, instructing him to keep them coming.

Almost an entire day passed. Draco nursed drink after drink in the back corner table. They were not making him feel any better. After a while, the barman refused to serve him, instead giving him the too-familiar potion that would relieve him of a hangover. For two more hours, Draco sat with his head in his hands at the back of the pub.

He checked his watch. "Almost eleven," he said quietly. "Everything should be settled down for the most part…Probably safe to go now." He generously tipped the barman and walked out relatively steadily. To his surprise, the booze ran through his system rather quickly – he only felt a slight buzz from the alcohol.

Draco Apparated back to Grimmauld Place and wearily hung up his coat. As silently as he could, he jerked open the door and walked down the stairs. He changed into his pajamas, a pair of sweatpants and no shirt, and finished his toilette. Right as he was about to crawl into his bed, he heard a knock at his door.


	32. Ch 32: Giving and Receiving

Author's Note: In the spirit of celebration (of both my birthday and the fact that I totally aced my orgo test - woo!), here is the next chapter. I think you all are going to like it. Please enjoy!!

Giving and Receiving

At first, Draco thought he had imagined the knock on his door. When a moment later it sounded again, Draco knew it was real. Unsure of what to expect, he slowly moved towards the noise. With one hand tentatively on the knob and the other hovering over his wand, Draco yanked the barrier open.

It was Hermione. She was wearing pajamas – sweatpants and a surprisingly fitted t-shirt – and looked like she had rolled out of bed once she heard he was home. Draco could not hide the surprise in his eyes or on his voice.

"Granger? What are you doing here?"

"Where were you today?" she asked, ignoring his question.

"The Leaky Cauldron. I didn't feel like being here," he said, no doubt heading off her next question.

She contemplated his answer. After a moment, she asked, "Can I come in?"

"Uh, sure."

"Thanks," she said with more than just a hint of relief. "That hallway creeps me out…"

"I know the feeling…" Draco said in an undertone. He glared out into the dark corridor after Hermione brushed past him, bringing with her a subtle scent of warm coconut and something else unrecognizable but wonderful. Draco closed his eyes and inhaled, then remembered himself and followed her into his room. "Take a seat," he offered, gesturing towards his bed.

She did, and he sat down next to her.

"I'm sorry your holiday wasn't all that great," she started. "I know you must be used to something wonderful and grand and…"

"Actually Granger," he interrupted, "I can't remember the last time I had a good holiday. For me, this was one of the better ones."

He was grateful that she did not question him further about the vague remark, but resented slightly the compassionate look she shot him. Ignoring his slightly annoyed look, Hermione smiled and pulled something from her pocket.

Almost by instinct, Hermione headed off Draco's question. "I figured you wouldn't be getting any gifts this year, so I wanted to make sure you got '_something'_." She shoved the box into his astonished hands and withdrew quickly, embarrassed.

Draco stared open-mouthed at the green velvet box. It was about the size of his palm and very light. Like always, she was correct: he hadn't been expecting anything. But it was even more of a shock that _Hermione_ of all people got him something.

'After all that I did to her this year, all I put her through…' he thought in amazement.

It was literally a second of silence. But that combined with Draco's incredulous look must have been enough of a catalyst. If Hermione was not embarrassed before, she certainly was now. Her cheeks flushed violently and she practically jumped to her feet. "It's nothing…it's stupid…" she blurted, looking anywhere but him. "I'm sorry…I shouldn't have, but I…Oh, just don't open it until I'm gone."

With that, she took one quick step towards the door but got no further: Draco had captured her wrist in a very firm hold. He looked at her like she was crazy, but his tone was gentle. "Stay, Hermione."

Apparently that was all she needed to hear. Robotically, nervously, she took her original seat. She was all nerves – stiff as a board but somehow shaking, looking straight forward. Draco's shoulders knotted with tension simply by looking at her.

Slowly, he opened the velvet case. A silver dragon spiraled around a green stone which hung from a silver chain. The detail was fantastic – the dragon's scales were each separate pieces of metal, somehow crafted to look like one flowing creature. Its wings and tail were long and pointed. When he touched the spines, he found that they were as sharp as they looked.

"It's for luck and protection," Hermione said before Draco could ask. Her voice was steady as she rattled off the facts. "The greenish stone in the center is serpentine, which promotes good luck and success. Its eyes are onyx, which has all types of meanings to it."

"Like what?" Draco asked, looking more closely at the beast's eyes. They glittered in the flickering light, making it seem like it could fly out of his hand at any moment.

"Well, protection and good decision making for one thing. But it also helps overcome feelings of alienation and loneliness. It helps to dispel grief." Her voice dropped an octave and she lowered her eyes to her hands. "After all that's happened so far this year, I…I thought you could use it," she said quietly.

Draco looked at her as it was the first time. This shaking witch, sitting on his bed in her nightclothes at half past midnight, had just given him a gift. But this was no ordinary gift – it was something that could help him, something that he needed. It was thought out and planned and, well, heartfelt. And neither was this an ordinary witch! This was Hermione Granger, the same person Draco had loathed for six years, the same girl he had teased and brutalized mercilessly, the same Mudblood who had beaten him in nearly every class. She was the dirt on his shoes – lower, even. She was the bane of his existence!

'Or at least she was supposed to be', he thought in amazement, noting how a few stray curls had slipped from their elastic to fall around her face. 'This isn't the same person.'

Staying the impulse to brush the curls back, Draco shook himself out of his thoughts. Hermione was still stiff and tense on his bed and he had been staring, like some ungrateful idiot. "Thank you, Hermione," he said sincerely. He put it on, instantly feeling a flare of heat run through his body.

'Must be the magic,' he thought, and fingered the pendant carefully.

"It's brilliant," he said.

She chanced a small smile, shoulders finally relaxing. "I'm happy you like it."

They sat in silence for a moment when Hermione spoke. "Well, I should be going to bed now, so…" She got up to leave when Draco grabbed her hand, unconsciously curling his fingers around her palm. He noticed, with a drop in his stomach, that, consciously or not, her fingers had closed around his as well.

"I have something for you, too," he said, clearing his throat. He watched her mouth drop as he got up and went to his nightstand. He opened the drawer and withdrew a black velvet pouch.

"You didn't have to…" she started.

"I wanted to," he said, placing the bag carefully into her hands. He offered her no more explanation

Her brown eyes shone as she opened the bag. Gently, she tipped it into her palm, the metal making a light tinkling noise as it tumbled out of the package. A dainty silver charm bracelet shone in the candlelight. The chain was thin, but for some reason, Hermione knew it was sturdy; she would have the bracelet forever.

Dangling off it, acting as her first and second charms, were a lion and a phoenix.

"Goblin made," he stated, a hint of pride in his voice. Hermione looked at him aghast – it must have cost a fortune! He ignored her look, though. "I think we were thinking along the same lines," Draco said with a smile. "I asked the woman who sold it to me…The lion is for protection, as well as your House. The phoenix symbolizes eternity and longevity."

Smiling, she said, "Thank you, Draco. I really love it."

"Here," he said, reaching for it. Dexterously, he attached the shining silver bracelet around her wrist, intentionally dragging his fingers across her skin, feeling her shiver, due in part to the bracelet's magic and to him as well, or at least he liked to think.

She smiled nervously and reached down towards her wrist, lightly playing with the charms, accidentally brushing his fingers.

'Or maybe not so accidentally,' he thought when he met her eyes. She looked nervous and excited and utterly beautiful in the candlelight. His decision was made. Slowly, he reached up and pulled her head towards his and softly captured her lips. He kissed her gently, tentatively, waiting for a response to indicate what to do next.

To his great pleasure, and surprise, Hermione slowly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself a little closer to him. Draco needed no more encouragement. He pulled her the rest of the way so that their bodies were flush. They were kissing intently now, her fingers wound through the platinum silk of his hair, his gripping fiercely into the skin of her back. He pressed his lips against hers harder, straining to blur the boundary of where he ended and where she began.

Their kiss only lasted for a minute, but it was the best minute in the world. Draco's entire body lit on fire and he shivered as her soft fingers stroked his hairline. Once Hermione pulled away, but Draco found himself unsatisfied; he wanted more, and was on the verge of doing anything he could to get it.

"Hermione," he whispered into her ear. He nibbled on it gently and moved onto her neck, sucking and biting the tender skin there.

"Draco," she breathed in response, her delicate fingers tracing the lines of his chest. "Draco, what are we doing?"

"I have no idea," he said quite honestly between small bites of skin. Hermione moaned softly and tossed her head back.

"This can't happen," she said in a more determined, breathy voice, both hands now firmly on his chest, fingers splayed against his muscles. The feel of her hands on his chest was unparalleled. He wondered absently how they would feel on other, more important, pieces of his anatomy.

"I know," he said again, now moving aside her pajama top to expose her collarbone. He kissed it gently, feeling her shiver underneath his touch. It was exhilarating. His warm fingers started to snake farther beneath her shirt – her skin was so soft! – and for a minute, he thought she was going to give in. She let out a small gasp and leaned into his arms, rewarding him with more flesh from her neck and collarbone.

Just when his mind abandoned him and his passion took over, he felt Hermione's hands on his.

"Draco," she said seriously, looking him in the eye. "We can't."

His brain did not register the rejection.

"Hermione," he whispered, and went in for another kiss.

Whether or not she tried to dodge his lips was immaterial for they landed there just the same. It was short, Hermione pulling away almost immediately after Draco made contact. While his eyes were glazed and lusty, hers were starting to lose those valued qualities. "No, Draco," she said firmly, placing her hand on his chest. "We…I can't."

A rush of cool air hit his naked torso as Hermione moved away. She backed out of the room, her expression mixed. Numbly, he watched her go. He sat for a minute on his bed, staring at the closed door and trying to regain his senses. When they failed to come, Draco gave up and simply lay down. Instead of falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow per usual, Draco tossed and turned for two hours, trying not to think of Hermione and failing miserably.

XOX

Hermione could not stop shaking. She gripped the railings as she climbed two flights of stairs. The doorknob jiggled in her grasp, making a rattling so loud she thought Ginny would wake. Fortunately, the red-headed girl just incoherently mumbled something that sounded like "Harry" and turned over. Hermione lowered herself into bed, curling up in a ball under the covers for warmth and comfort.

She was tempted to cry, but scolded herself. 'Hermione Jane Granger, you are being ridiculous. There is absolutely no reason to overreact, which is exactly what you're doing right now. Slow down, breathe, and think about what happened. You can figure this out. Now think!'

And so she did. Clarity must have been farther away than she thought, though. The more she thought, the more confused she became.

'How can this happen? I've always hated him! Always! And now he gives me a gift and everything's different? The entire idea is simply ludicrous. I cannot allow this to happen.'

'Ah,' piped up the devilish side of her mind, 'it was not just the gift, though. You've bonded while living with him. He was alone, and for a great time, so you were. You found each other in that time. It would be a stretch to call you friends, but you know just as well as I that friendship, or perhaps even more, could very well blossom for you both.'

Hermione scoffed quietly, not believing what she was thinking. Was she seriously justifying this?

'He's changed, Hermione. What happened last year…the reason he left…what's been happening at school…can't you see?' She was surprised to find that her devil's advocate and her sanity had fused into one voice now. 'Draco is different. Sure, he still has remnants of his old ways. He's still cocky and arrogant and sometimes a complete jerk, but he's been humbled too. Now, he knows when to accept help. He still won't seek it, but that's what you're here for.'

Hermione grinned widely and rolled over, hugging the blankets close to her chest. No doubts existed in her mind and she was a little tempted to go back down to his room. But looking at the clock, she decided against it.

'There's still plenty of time left,' she thought and fell into a positively blissful sleep.

XOX

She was forced to wait the entire day to talk to him. Hermione did not begrudge the time she spent with her friends, but, as she glanced at the clock for the tenth time in an hour, she wished that the day would pass faster.

'I want to join him on his walk tonight,' she thought as she twirled a quill absently in her hands. Warmth sailed through her upon her next thought. 'I want to be with him.'

She heard footsteps in the hall and Harry poked his head in her room. "Dinnertime, Hermione," he said in a whisper.

She looked at him oddly. "Why are we whispering?"

"So Ron doesn't hear," he explained. "Each day, he's beaten me down to the table. Well, not today."

Hermione saw Ron's carrot-colored hair appear directly behind Harry. She bit her tongue to keep from laughing.

"I'm going to beat him down there this time," Harry said determinately, a tough look in his eyes. "I'm going to beat him and I'm never going to let him forget it."

"Well," came Ron's voice from directly behind him, "you're going to have quite a time doing it!" Hermione's laughter burst from her mouth as Ron shoved Harry inside of her room and bolted down the stairs.

"How long was he standing there for?" Harry asked Hermione, knowing that his quest was basically hopeless.

"At least a minute," Hermione giggled.

Harry rolled his eyes in mock annoyance and headed out the door. "Better luck next time," Hermione said while following him.

Ron beamed at them from across the table as Harry and Hermione, followed by Ginny, took their seats. Hermione noticed Draco come up only minutes before the actual meal was served. Surreptitiously, she glanced at him from across the table.

'He seems confused…frustrated…unhappy…' she thought. His elbow was on the table, his head resting upon his hands. He fiddled with his fork, unintentionally spilling several peas from his plate. 'What is he thinking?' Hermione wondered, even though she had a pretty good idea of the answer.


	33. Ch 33: Nighttime Explorations

Author's Note: Ah, after two stressful weeks, an update! Sorry for the delay, but it was (unfortunately) necessary. Anywhos, on with the chapter. Enjoy!!

Nighttime Explorations

Dinner finished and Mrs. Weasley's voice rang out over the clattering of Harry and Ron racing to the exit.

"Settle down, boys, and hold on a minute!" she yelled over their heavy footfalls. "The holiday's over and it's time for you all to get back to work." Their simultaneous groans went ignored by the fire-haired matriarch. "I'm very well aware that you all have studies to do, especially with your N.E.W.T.S. approaching. Each of you, to your separate rooms for an hour. Crack open those books, and I don't want to hear one complaint!"

"But Mum, Harry doesn't have any work to do!" said Ron.

Too similar to a complaint for Mrs. Weasley, she gave her son an aggravated stare. "He has plenty to accomplish for the Order," she said officiously. "Off to Moody with you, Harry dear. The rest of you to your rooms. Go on, now!" She ushered the groaning group out of the kitchen and up the stairs, making sure she heard four doors close. Only when that happened did she go back to her work in the kitchen, turning on the radio and singing softly to herself.

As usual, Draco was forgotten from Mrs. Weasley's orders. He slipped on his winter gear and with more care than previously, snuck out the door. He was halfway to his usual trail when he heard his name shouted from the house.

"Draco, wait!" came Hermione's voice from behind him.

He stopped and looked back, obediently waiting for her to catch up.

"Shirking homework? That's certainly not like you," he said teasingly, a blonde eyebrow arched high into his hat.

"I finished it already," she said with a guilty smile.

"Ah, there's the Hermione I know," he said. She stuck her tongue out at him and he chuckled softly, commencing his walk about the yard.

"How did you know I was coming out?" he questioned.

"I've known since the first time you did it," she responded as if it were obvious.

"And you decided to join me now because…"

"Do you want me to go back in?" she asked him in a mock-hurt voice. Draco said nothing, but rolled his eyes and stared at the path ahead of them. "I wanted to talk to you," she said in a hesitant voice, "about last night."

His eyes, cold steel in winter's quickly-fading light, met hers. "I'm sorry about that," he apologized. "I didn't mean to…lose control. I understand if you want to tell McGonagall about it. I just…" He trailed off and looked at her uncertainly. Her brown eyes – usually so expressive – were unreadable. Unable to hold her gaze for any longer, Draco looked down at the snow.

"I understand," Hermione said, "but I wish we hadn't stopped." Her voice shook, but not from the cold.

Draco stopped in his tracks and looked at her aghast. In that instant, he ceased to function in a biological sense. His heart ceased to beat and all the air wooshed out of his lungs, which collapsed into nothing more than useless lumps of flesh encased in a cold husk. His emotions, though, ran wild. Hermione's simple words nearly brought Draco crashing to his knees.

XOX

Although _Draco's _world may have stopped, Hermione's kept going. She stood in the swirling snow, becoming more completely covered with the white powder the longer he stood speechless. It was an unnerving and horrid silence. For the first time in her life, she allowed her heart to lead instead of her head. And now, for the first time in her life, she began to regret what she had said.

Her cheeks became rosy with embarrassment and she shifted uncomfortably in the snow. Just as she was about to turn back towards the house in angry and shamed tears, Draco spoke. Or more accurately, moved.

The short distance between them was quickly closed by a step and soon his arms were around her and his lips on hers. The world around them spun as they kissed in the dark. Time stood still and they lasted forever, immortalized by the vortex of snow and ice that entwined their bodies. Nature was the only witness to this combination of two matched souls; it would never forget the magic of that moment.

They broke apart, Hermione's head spinning. She inhaled deeply, trying to catch her breath. It seemed like Draco was having a similar problem. He rested his forehead on hers, his eyes half-closed in ecstasy.

"I want to be with you," he breathed onto her lips. The warmth of his breath was a decadent juxtaposition against the cold. But she much would have preferred his lips to his breath. And so, she kissed him – an affirmation that she felt the same way.

When they parted, both were smiling. Their grins soon turned to giggles and then laughs, which echoed brilliantly in the night. Draco hugged her and picked her up, spinning her in the frosty air. She squealed and laughed at his antics. Their joy remained steady through the rest of their walk, even though what they spoke of was less-than-cheerful.

"No one else can know," Hermione said seriously, entwining her fingers with his.

"I know," he said. "But when you think about it, it will be remarkably easy to keep this a secret."

"When we're at school, at least. What are we supposed to do for the rest of the holiday?" Hermione did not say it, but not seeing him, not being near him, was out of the question.

"It's going to be tough. But if you wanted, you could come down at night, when everyone's asleep. We can be together then."

"And only then," Hermione sighed. Cryptically, she intoned, "We're together only in darkness. I wish it didn't have to be that way."

Draco did not acknowledge the feeling of foreboding which settled onto his heart at her words. Instead, he replied with a quiet, "Me too," and wrapped his arm around her waist. They stopped and he pulled her close, planting another soft kiss on her lips, letting his tongue linger in her mouth, enjoying her taste.

Eventually, they arrived at the house, Hermione walking in first, making sure that the coast was clear for Draco. She need not have worried: the downstairs was deserted. They shed their winter gear and Draco looked at the clock.

"Only seven o'clock," he mumbled. "That's far too long to wait." Draco's hand snaked around her hips and drew her close. The other skimmed over her hair, fingering the soft ringlets.

"Draco!" Hermione hissed, looking over his shoulder tentatively. "What did we just say?" Despite herself, she giggled as Draco nibbled the skin of her neck.

"I know, I know," he sighed, "but now that I have you, I don't want to let you go."

She put her hands on his chest, absentmindedly smoothing out his shirt. "Tonight," she said with a short kiss on his lips. "One o'clock. Then you can have me as long as you want." With a grin, she backed away from him and walked up the stairs, smiling like a maniac all the way to her room.

XOX

True to her word, Hermione knocked softly on Draco's door at 1:00 a.m. Insane thoughts ran wild through her mind, almost causing her to turn back and run upstairs. 'What if he was only joking? What if this is all a trick?'

Her fears were alleviated, though, as Draco yanked open the door and swept Hermione into a sweet embrace. She smiled against his lips and made her confession with her arms around his neck. "I thought earlier today was all a dream. I was afraid that when I came down, everything would be as it was."

He traced her jaw line with the pad of his thumb, smiling indulgently. "And since it's not?" Draco asked.

"I'm about ten times happier," she whispered and kissed him again.

They moved their escapades to the bed and, after they had necked a little while longer, just laid together in peace, content in each other's presence.

"I can't believe this is happening," Hermione said out-loud.

"Me neither," Draco admitted. "At the beginning of the year, I never would have imagined anything like this ever occurring. I'm still surprised it did."

"That makes two of us," Hermione said. "After all that's happened…" She sighed heavily and snuggled her head deeper into his neck, inhaling his sharp, clean scent.

"I'm sorry," Draco said. Hermione looked up at him in confusion. "For everything," he continued. "The insults, the fights, the pain…." His sincerity touched her. Never had she thought Draco would apologize for _anything_, much less anything that had to do with _her_. She found herself oddly delighted at the notion of regret.

"I forgive you, Draco, and I'm sorry too. I didn't exactly make this year easy on you and it was already hard enough."

"Well now that I know at least one person is on my side, my year has gotten about ten times better. The fact that it's you makes it infinitely so."

Hermione laughed a bit, then got quiet. For another hour, they laid together until Hermione felt her eyelids droop and her limbs grow heavy. It would be so easy to fall asleep in his arms – it felt so natural! – but the explanation she would have to give in the morning would be slightly more complicated.

"I should go," she said sleepily. And although she hated to leave his side, she got up anyways, Draco following after.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked with a drowsy, contented smile.

"Sounds good," she said.

With a simple goodnight kiss, she quietly made her way up the stairs and into her room, trying her hardest not to wake Ginny in the process.

XOX

For the last week of their holiday, Hermione and Draco carried on their relationship in secret. It was harder than either had imagined. The entire day, they wanted nothing more than to be with each other. But with the entire Order being steadfastly against anything that was even remotely related to Draco, this was a cruel impossibility. But they made up for it at night, often staying together until near daybreak.

To their knowledge, no one even had a suspicion as to what they were up to. Hermione attributed her tiredness to the stress of her studies. No one cared about Draco's apparent lack of energy. And so the two were allowed to continue their relationship in secret. They did so with great gusto. There was no mistaking the heat and passion they had for each other.

On the last day of break, Hermione waited in her bed, eagerly waiting for when the clock face would read 1:00 a.m. In case she fell asleep, her wand would grow warm as a reminder of her rendezvous. She looked at the clock and at the ceiling once more, twirling her hair in impatience.

'Thirty minutes seems like an hour,' she thought with a sigh. 'But he's worth the wait.' She smiled as she thought of Draco's arms around her body and his lips on her skin. Shivering in anticipation, she looked at the clock again. 'Twenty-five minutes,' she thought. 'I'm sure he won't mind if I show up a bit early…' She smiled and quietly got out of bed, arranging the blankets in a way that made it seem like she was still there. She padded down the hall silently, focused entirely on her surroundings.

A small clatter came from the kitchen, making Hermione stifle a gasp and press herself against the wall, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. She stayed perfectly still for a minute, straining to hear another confirmation of movement in the dark kitchen.

The floorboards creaked of their own accord and the entire house seemed to groan from the wind outside. Pipes rattled and somewhere water was running. But no more sounds came from the kitchen. She silently let out the breath she had been holding and pushed herself off the wall. As quickly as possible, she passed the entrance to the kitchen.

But it was not fast enough. From the darkness, a hand shot out and landed on her arm, pulling her to the body hidden in the darkness. She was about to scream when a hand clapped over her mouth. She started to struggle against the strong hold.

"Shh, Hermione," came Channing's voice from above her right ear. "It's me…it's Channing." Against her instincts, she stopped struggling. He released her, but his hands seemed to linger a tad too long upon her body. "Sorry about that," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, "I didn't want you to scream and wake the whole house," he explained.

Hermione nodded mutely, trying to calm her heart and steady her breathing. Channing surely used quite a scare tactic for not wanting to cause a scene.

"What are you doing out of bed anyways?"

Stories ran through Hermione's head. Luckily, they were good ones. "I was thirsty," she said, "and I thought I heard a noise."

Channing fixed her with an intense stare and Hermione immediately remembered her Occlumency lessons. He held eye contact with her for only a short time, finding nothing due to Hermione's quick defenses. Either satisfied or suspicious, he kept her talking.

"Where did you hear this noise at?"

She said the first place that came to her mind. "The basement." Immediately, she regretted it.

"Come to think of it, I think I heard something down there too," he said in an false tone. "Let's go down and investigate."

"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing," Hermione tried to cover. "It was probably just you that I heard."

"No, no," he persisted, "I think we should go see anyways. You'll rest easier knowing it's nothing. Now come on," he said, grabbing her hand.

She did not have a choice. Channing dragged her to the basement door and gestured for her to go. "Ladies first," he said with a smirk.


	34. Ch 34: The Innocent

Author's Note: Hey all! Summer has officially started (for me, anyways), which will (hopefully) mean more frequent updates which also means that the story will be coming to an end very soon! Ack! But let's not think of depressing things like that. Instead, let's focus on this chapter, which is one of my favorites. Read, review, and most importantly, enjoy.

The Innocent

Hermione made as much noise as possible. She tromped down the stairs as loudly as her bare feet would allow, even feigning a stumble so that she could yelp and noisily grip the railing. Unfortunately, the last bit of acting prompted Channing to put his hands around her waist to steady her, but the unwarranted contact was worth alerting Draco that something was not right. Hopefully he would make the right decision to stay out of sight and let her handle it. She crossed her fingers by her side and held her wand aloft with her other hand.

"_Lumos_," she whispered, as did Channing. Upon his prodding, Hermione walked to the left, towards the strange and terrifying room she had explored with Draco when they had first arrived. Unable to turn around, she was forced to pick her way through the torn and broken furniture towards the steel table.

"Do you see anything?" Channing asked.

"No," Hermione said, trying to hide the shaking in her voice. "No, there's nothing down here. Obviously, I was just hearing things. Let's go back upstairs now," she said quickly. She turned around and regarded him with wide, pleading eyes. She did not like this part of the basement…not one bit.

Contrary to what she hoped, Channing's brown eyes took on a slightly metallic glint. "Why?" he questioned in a mocking tone. "Are you afraid?"

She did not dignify his question with a response, opting to lift her chin in haughty pride.

He scoffed at her. "There is nothing to be scared of down here, Hermione," he said, taking her elbow and leading her nearer to the table. Her entire body started to shake involuntarily; she tried to stifle it, but too late: Channing noticed.

"Take a seat on the table," he demanded. Hermione looked at him like he was crazy.

'And perhaps he is,' she thought, noticing his smile, which was cruel and maniacal in the wandlight.

"No," she replied very matter-of-factly, "I'd rather not." Gathering steam now, she stepped around him. "In fact," she continued, "I'm leaving."

Hermione was not two steps away from him when he called out to her, "You know why this is down here, don't you?" His voice resonated in the dark; Hermione inwardly groaned. She had to hand it to him: Channing knew how to get her attention. If there was anything that would make her stay in the basement, it was information about that table. Despite herself, she turned around. Her appetite for knowledge barely overcame her apprehension.

"Why?"

"Why do you think?" he asked seriously.

She furrowed her brow, scenarios running through her mind. As if of its own accord, her body passed him and walked around the ancient equipment as he talked. He trailed close behind her, narrating scenes from years past with a deep, nearly menacing voice.

"What I say will come as a surprise to you, but I ask you to hear me out. At one time, the Order operated much like the Death Eaters. Undoubtedly, they worked for good. They fought the Dark Lord tirelessly, turning over captured Death Eaters and murder suspects over to the Ministry…as soon as they were done with them," he said cryptically. Hermione ran her hands above the leather straps on the steel table, the image of a blood-stained hand straining futilely against it popping into her mind. She gasped and heard Channing laugh lowly.

"The Order of the Phoenix, like any other organization, was concerned with its own well-being at the beginning. To succeed, they needed information…Information that the Ministry didn't have. And there was only one sure-fire way to get it: _torture_," he said, his voice no more than a hiss. "That's what they did. Much more unusual than the Cruciatus Curse, hence all the Muggle mechanisms. The syringes above us…each filled with a different poison, each for a different purpose: to confess, to hurt, to knock out, to drive mad…to kill. Who knows how many people suffered beneath the hands of the operator? And how many innocents, as well?"

Hermione whipped around. "It's not true," she said angrily, completely ridding her voice of fear. "It can't be. Dumbledore would never…he could never allow something like this to happen! And the other Order members…Moody, the Longbottoms, Harry's parents! They would never stand for something like this!"

"I never said it was a highly publicized practice," he chided. "Only the Order's most trusted members even could even access the torture room and then only when accompanied by someone who had a stain on their soul. The door wouldn't open otherwise. But face it, Hermione," he said, grasping her upper arms tightly and pushing her against the table. The cold steel touched her back, making her entire body break out in goosebumps. "You are old enough to know the truth. The Order wasn't always what you think it is. It has skeletons…horrible ones. People, too, aren't always what you think..."

He dipped his head close to her face, whispering directly into her ear. Hermione winced as his body became flush against her own. He pressed hard against her, grinding her hips and spine painfully into the steel. His hands moved from her arms to her face, turning it away, exposing her neck to his mouth. "You have to be careful," he whispered against her ear, tongue lashing out to caress the lobe. Hermione shuddered in disgust and repressed a frightened cry. "You never know what's going to happen next…"

Just as he was about to lower his lips to her neck, a flash of white light lit up the room from behind her. She shut her eyes against the brightness and brought her hands up to protect her head. The light faded in an instant and she opened her eyes again, seeing Channing leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room. He stared behind her with wild eyes. Hermione was too petrified to move.

He rose slowly, eyes still trained on whatever was behind her. "Be careful who you trust," were his parting words. He turned around and quickly strode up the stairs, leaving Hermione alone, or so she hoped.

As strong as this hope was, though, Hermione knew she was not alone. She felt someone behind her, on the other side of the table, or perhaps even atop it. But she did not want to turn around and confront whoever was standing there. Even if it had saved her, she still did not know the spirit's intentions.

'But I have to move sometime,' she thought, finally regaining the ability to breathe. Slowly, she stepped away from the table and tightened the grip on her wand. Although it was useless to try to fight against a ghost, she spun around and brandished it at the specter anyways.

The ghost who stood behind her looked remarkably like Luna Lovegood. She was tall. Her hair was long and wavy, ending at her waist, and her eyes were large. A nondescript dress fell to her feet. But even in her plain clothing, the woman looked fierce and frightening. Though death had robbed her of her physicality, it had clearly not altered her mentality.

"Who are you?" Hermione asked in a small voice.

"It matters not who I am," said the ghost, advancing on Hermione through the table. "And I know who you are. But do you?"

Yes," she answered hesitantly, "I do." Although it was easy enough to answer, Hermione was puzzled at the ghost's intention.

"I am not so sure," she said, looking to the side. Hermione furrowed her brow in thought and regarded the woman in front of her. She seemed worried, like she was expecting something. She was silent, giving Hermione the opportunity to thank her.

"It was nothing," said the ghost, waving it off. "I dislike him anyways."

'That makes two of us,' Hermione thought.

A marked silence passed. "You died here?" Hermione questioned suddenly, gesturing to the sterile slab of steel and leather.

The specter looked at her steadily, pale eyes glowing intensely. "Yes," she said, "on this table in the days of your elders."

"Was it…" She was about to finish with the word "torture", but the pale woman cut her off.

"Yes," she said, "it was everything that man said. Many people, both guilty and innocent, were worse than killed in this very room. But the Order has changed," she stated. "I have watched it do so."

The ghost, whose attention had not been focused fully on Hermione, now was completely distracted.

"I must go," she said quickly, "someone approaches. But as terrible as that man was, heed his words. Beware of whom you trust. People are not always as they seem. And it is those closest to you who can hurt the worst."

Before Hermione could say another word, she disappeared.

"Hermione!"

She started and whipped around, seeing Draco coming towards her quickly. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her head close to his chest. Hermione could not let herself melt into his embrace like usual. The words of Channing, and more effectively, the words of the ghost, echoed through her head.

'Be careful who I trust…The ones closest to me will hurt me the most…'

She pushed away from him, but he did not let her go.

"What happened, Hermione?" he said, cupping her face in his hands. "I heard you come down the stairs and I heard someone else's voice…"

"Yes," she said, "I was on my way down to you, but Channing was in the kitchen. I said I thought a heard a noise and he forced me to come down here to see what it was. I'm just happy you didn't come out."

"No, I was suspicious. Although I should have if that '_bastard'_ was down here with you…" Draco's gentle visage twisted into one of anger and disgust.

"He gave me information…about the table...about the Order…" Draco stopped staring off into space, no doubt contemplating the many ways to murder Channing, and paid the utmost attention to Hermione. "We were right. They used to torture people here. _The Order_ used to torture people."

"There are secrets everywhere," said Draco. Hermione abruptly lifted her head and regarded him steadily, her eyes narrowed in thought. He looked at her oddly. "What?" Urgently, now, he inquired, "Hermione? What happened? Did he do anything?"

"No," she responded. "Didn't stop him from trying, but no, nothing happened." She heard Draco heave a huge sigh and felt his body relax.

"What stopped him?"

Hermione thought for a second before she answered, the ghost's words whispering in the back of her mind. "He got frightened," she answered in what she hoped was a convincing tone. "He…he thought he saw something."

Draco looked at her skeptically, raising an eyebrow. She kept his gaze and fought the guilty blush from her cheeks, effectively assuring him that it was the truth. Or at least, bits of it. After a moment, he was satisfied. Or so she hoped.

"I'm happy you're okay," he said while leaning in for a kiss. She dodged his lips, instead giving him her cheek. He pulled away quickly and looked at her reproachfully.

"Draco, I'm sorry, but I can't…Not tonight," she said, looking over her shoulder to the steel table. "I…I just can't."

XOX

'Something else has happened,' Draco thought. He looked at Hermione quizzically as she stared at the steel table. He was an experienced liar and knew all the signs of concealment; she was never any good at it anyways. The distance, the stutter, the hesitation, the blush that crept into her cheeks…Hermione was obviously hiding something. 'But what?'

"Fine," he said, in a tone of mixed annoyance and sadness. He accompanied her to the stairs. "I'll see you tomorrow then." She nodded and walked quietly up the stairs as he watched her go. Only when she was out of his sight did he turn towards his room.

"That was strange," he murmured. "Very strange." He crawled back into bed and laid on his back, his hands crossed behind his head. He looked up at the ceiling with a confused expression. He could not shake the suspicion that she had been lying to him about something. "She seemed…guarded…" he whispered to no one. "But why should she be?"

"Why do you think, young man?" came a woman's stern voice from the right side of his room.

Draco yelled in surprise and launched himself up, his skull bouncing off the headboard with a thud. He leaned back on his arms and retreated from the presence of a formidable-looking woman with long hair and deep-set, wide eyes.

He was about to speak, or perhaps scream, he didn't really know, but the ghost held out a hand, effectively silencing him.

"Do not speak, but listen," she commanded. "I hear all that is to be heard. I see what appears before me and what lies within all people. Although I have no skin, I feel all there is to be felt. I can distinguish truth and right with a simple glance. I have never been wrong." She said all of that very quickly while standing very still. Draco thought she was going to stay put, but he was not so lucky. She started to come towards him, moving through the bed with ease.

"But you, young man, I have yet to figure out. A permanent black mark tarnishes your frame," Draco clutched his left arm compulsively, "but you are trying to cover it." She glanced at the forearm he held tightly. "What I cannot distinguish is if this gold paint you slather on so thickly will stick or if it is nothing more than a temporary varnish to hide your true intentions."

She spoke cryptically; Draco struggled to interpret meaning. Perhaps she knew this. "If you are truly the snake they all know you for," she clarified, "speak now so that I may forestall something terrible." She was directly in front of his now, her pearly form close enough to stick a hand through. "Tell me the truth," she demanded. "What are you going to do?" Draco did not answer. The ghost repeated herself. "What are you going to do? Whose orders are you under? What are your intentions?" By this point, she was nearly yelling, her displeasure obvious. Draco thought it prudent to respond, choosing his words carefully.

"I'm doing what I can to survive. Nothing more, nothing less." Despite the shaking of his body, his voice was strong. This is surprised him. She appeared surprised as well, taking a step back.

"That…that can't be correct…You must…there must be…" she said, her voice filled for the first time with the slightest hint of doubt.

"Survival," he said with more conviction. "That is all."

The specter looked uncertain. Draco narrowed his eyes. The initial shock had passed; he was beyond fear and stepping into annoyance.

'What the devil is this banshee doing in my room this late at night? And who the hell is '_she'_ to question my motives when I don't even know her own? It's the middle of the night and I leave tomorrow. This is fucking ridiculous.'

"Leave," Draco said. The ghost, who was staring distractedly off into space, whipped her head up and glared at him.

"Excuse me?" she growled menacingly.

"Leave," Draco said, sitting up straighter in his bed. "Go. What little business you have here – presumably to judge and insult me – has been accomplished."

The woman's face, which had always held an alarming quality, turned absolutely ferocious at Draco's demand. Her eyes glowed white and her hair suddenly flew out behind her, waving wildly in an invisible wind. She screeched in rage and flew towards Draco, her faced cruelly twisted and her pale eyes narrowed. Before Draco could react, she flew through him with a force he did not expect. The air flew from his lungs and his head knocked back against the headboard once more.

The remnants of a whisper floated in his mind, hissing at him from all corners of his consciousness. They scratched at his sanity like a cat sharpening its claws. He clutched his head. "Get out, get out, get out," he whispered. They were surrounding him, physically now, brandishing words like swords, piercing into his mind, gutting it of knowledge and reason. They were getting louder and louder, soon to reach a crescendo. "Get out. Get out! GET OUT!" he screamed. The whispers stopped suddenly.

He shut his eyes tightly and moaned in pain, developing a terrible headache from the second blow and the cacophony of silent noise. For a minute he sat there, simply trying to catch his breath. He then lay down, cradling his head in the crook of his arm. Without another thought about the specter's words, he slept.


	35. Ch 35: And the Guilty

Author's Note: Hey all. Sorry it took so long for this chapter to get out. I have to admit, time got away from me for a bit there. Heh. Anyways, enjoy the chapter!

And the Guilty

Draco woke up at eight a.m. with an unusual amount of zeal. Though it was difficult to pinpoint exactly which place he hated more, after last night's spectral visit, he that Grimmauld Place definitely had the upper hand to Hogwarts. He could not wait to get out of the haunted basement and back to the haunted castle. More than that, he could not wait to get a room with a window. And more importantly than either of the above, a room with Hermione.

His trunk, which he had packed yesterday thanks to a brilliant bit of foresight, was waiting by the door. He made one final sweep of the room and shoved the trunk out into the hall with his foot. With a last grimace at the chamber he had been forced to inhabit, he shut the door. Without glancing to the side for fear of what he may see, Draco levitated his trunk up the stairs, intentionally banging it loudly off the walls. He smirked as he heard pairs of angry feet smack onto the ground a few floors above his head.

With a hearty slam of the basement door, Draco walked past the staircase. Ron stood at the bottom step looking utterly disheveled. His red hair stood up wildly and his eyes drooped heavily with sleep. His pajama pants showed at least two inches of ankle and were adorned with the worst plaid pattern Draco had ever seen. He scoffed as Ron yawned widely and rubbed his eyes.

"Nice pajamas, Weasley," Draco laughed derisively. It was not meant to be an insult but Draco stood back on his heels anyways, anticipating Ron's reaction.

Though his body was half-asleep, Ron's mind moved remarkably fast. He picked up the barb almost immediately. Draco saw his face contort in anger. He was ready to spring when Hermione's voice sounded from directly behind him.

"Just ignore him, Ron. Please?"

Draco's stomach dropped unpleasantly as he saw her hand alight on the ginger's arm and her warm, pleading brown eyes lock with his agitated blue ones. Normally this would not have bothered him. But after the rejection he suffered last night and the uneasy feeling that Hermione had lied to him, hot jealousy coursed through his veins. His face visibly flushed and his fists clenched at his sides.

"Fine," Ron sighed, "but only because it's too early in the morning to kick his arse," he finished, echoing Draco's sneer.

As soon as Ron looked away, however, Draco's face turned, if possible, colder. He regarded Hermione through slightly narrowed eyes, seeing hers take on a confused expression.

"Go to breakfast, Ron," she ordered absently, ushering him towards the kitchen. "I want to put my trunk near the fireplace then I'll be right in."

He nodded and shuffled off, leaving Draco and Hermione alone.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," she whispered, picking up her trunk and walking towards the door. With her back turned to him, she said quietly, "I hate seeing him upset."

"And I love seeing him upset," countered Draco, following close after her. "So it looks as if we're at an impasse."

"Or you could just stop," throwing him a backwards glance.

He stopped for a moment, stunned by the appearance of an attitude. "I'm not going to stop," he said obviously, starting after her once more, "but you should." He grabbed her arm, halting her process towards the door.

"Stop what?" she said, eyes flaring in quiet frustration. She yanked her arm out of his grip and crossed them both in front of her chest. "I'm doing nothing out of the ordinary! Ron is my friend and will continue being my friend despite what you may think."

"What the hell is this?" Draco hissed angrily. "A few days ago you were fine. Then last night something happened to get your knickers in a twist and you're taking it out on me! Something happened that you're not telling me. What the devil is it?" He put his hands on her again – her shoulders this time – in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.

"Nothing," she stated. "Now let go – you're annoying me." She wriggled out from under him and put her trunk near the departing room.

She started to walk towards the kitchen, but this time, Draco did not follow her, and she did not turn back. He watched her with hurt and confused gray eyes. She had ignored him…shrugged him off... 'Is this how it's going to end?' he thought with melancholy. 'After only a week?' He threw his head back, stretching out the tense muscles in his neck and sighing in worry.

As he rubbed the loose joint, his sharp hearing picked up a muffled noise. It was coming from the next room – the room connected to the Floo Network. He arched a blonde eyebrow and looked back down the hallway, making sure it was clear for him to investigate. Seeing nothing, he walked towards the door. The voice, speaking in low tones, was certainly coming from inside the room. He looked towards the kitchen once more and, seeing the hallway still clear, pressed his ear against the wooden door.

"…the importance of the mission…I've told her, yes. Many times…Veritaserum, mainly. I've even tried Legilimency…No luck…I know, master, I know. She's not giving me the information I need…I don't think she trusts me…No!" he gasped. "Please, I'll try harder. I'll get what you want. By any means necessary…Yes, it shall be done."

Draco heard the fire hiss and quickly backed away from the door as footsteps approached it. Scrambling now, he ducked into another room, his back flush against the wall. He heard the body stop for an instant, as if inspecting the scene. After a moment, the footsteps moved off towards the kitchen. Draco peeked from his hiding spot and spotted the familiar back of none other than Channing Orman.

Draco narrowed his eyes, his mind plunging deep into thought. Slowly, he walked towards the kitchen. He picked up a simple breakfast, took one last tour around the yard, and spun through the chimney back to Hogwarts just as the connection was about to close.

XOX

Lord Voldemort sat in his usual place. Despite his confidence in the secrecy of their hideout, he was still somewhat surprised that the Order had not threatened him yet.

'He must be doing a spectacular job,' Voldemort thought with a cold smile. His smile turned into a frown, though, as he glanced at a clock.

A minute later, the fire hissed and a man's head popped through.

"Master," said the man, respectfully bowing his head.

"You are late," he hissed. "This is not the first time such a thing has occurred…"

"I am sorry, My Lord, but I don't think you will be disappointed with the news I have brought you."

The Dark Lord sat straighter in his chair, trying to hide his excitement. "You have broken her?" he said with a hint of anxiety.

"Nearly," the head replied with a solemn expression. "A little more work and she will have told me everything, sir. You will soon be well established."

Voldemort's face twisted into what was supposed to be a smile. But the evil inside of him so twisted his features that his expression looked more like a grimace than anything else.

"You are dismissed," he said regally. The head immediately disappeared and Voldemort sat back, his day considerably brighter.

XOX

Her disagreement, for she was loathe to call it a fight, with Draco had set Hermione's day in an unhappy mood. She did not look at him once over breakfast and did not bother trying to sneak out with him on his walk in the woods. When they arrived back at school, she immediately went to the library, feeling the need to distance herself from him as much as possible.

Her eyes glazed over the pages of the book she was reading. More than once, she was forced to turn back two or three pages and re-read everything. After this happened a fifth time, she groaned and pushed the book away from her. She rubbed her eyes and glared down at the table. Obviously she was not going to get any peace until she mulled over more thoroughly the words she heard not but one night ago.

'Be careful who I trust…That could mean anyone! Ugh, why wasn't she more specific?' Her eyes filled with frustrated tears. 'I'm being ridiculous,' she thought. With sharp movements, she packed up her book and subtly wiped a tear from her eye. She made her way back to the dormitory, solved Helga's riddle, and walked in. She saw Draco descending the stairs from his room and her eyes quickly darted away from him.

Looking anywhere else but at him, she felt him move past her, heading towards one of the couches, presumably to study. The chill he brought with him was palpable.

"Draco," she said in a voice that shook slightly, "I'm sorry."

She looked up at him now; he had stopped in his tracks and regarded her steadily, impassively. His stony look intimidated her, but she kept on. "I should have been honest with you from the start. That night in the basement I encountered a ghost. She told me to be careful who I trusted and I immediately thought of you and your past." He did not look at all surprised about this admission. "It wasn't fair for my mistrust to jump to you. You've made it clear that you've left all that behind. And even if the other members don't trust you…I do." Tears sprang to her eyes once more and she tried to smile weakly. "Please, forgive me?"

In a few long steps, Draco had his arms around her. He held her tightly and kissed the top of her head. She closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder, smiling into his neck as he whispered, "Don't ever do that to me again," into her ear.

Hermione giggled and whispered, "I won't," just as softly. Content, she remained in his arms a moment longer.

"I do wonder, though, who she was talking about," said Hermione.

Draco shrugged and sat down on the couch. "Could have been anyone," he said.

"Orman," Hermione said almost immediately. "I don't trust him at all, despite all the assurances."

Draco's visage darkened. "The slimy bastard…" he seethed, no doubt recalling Hermione's various encounters with the man.

"At the same time, though," she continued, following her own train of thought, "he's part of the Order, and they would know if he was untrustworthy."

"Doesn't stop him from being a bloody piece of shite…"

"Moody knows Legilimency, I'm sure."

"Wish I could get my hands on him…"

"Oh, what am I saying?" She rubbed her eyes, distressed. "The Order is controlled by more than Moody and a lousy Legilimency exam. There are background checks, recommendations, interview processes…A gamut of fail-safes that would make a plant nearly impossible!"

"So?" questioned Draco, finally joining the conversation. "All those things are easily forged and staged." She raised an eyebrow at him; he sighed and began to explain. "A background check is nothing but information, which can be altered by anyone with a wand and enough sense cover his tracks. Recommendations can be forged or influenced: threats, blackmail, an Imperius Curse…any of those would be enough. And a good Occlumens can get through an interview without a problem. Hell, a good liar could."

"And this is from experience, I take it?" she deadpanned.

Draco remained serious. "You don't live with someone like my father and not pick up on a few things."

Hermione fidgeted in the awkward silence, then said quickly, "But there are jinxes and spells which prevent those kinds of falsifications. The Order is a strict society, even more so than it used to be. If Moody trusts Channing, then I should too. I haven't heard anything against him from Harry, either, and he would definitely tell me." Draco looked at her skeptically, but said no more. She continued on after a moment: "Besides, Moody wouldn't have relayed my assignment through Channing if he wasn't a responsible member – it's too sensitive a subject."

"What is it?" Draco asked.

Although it was a good attempt, Hermione caught herself. "Draco, you know as well as I that I can't tell you that. It's Order business."

"But what if I can help you?" he asked. Hermione's decisiveness wavered for a moment. Whether Draco noticed or not she was unsure, but his next statement cut her. "I thought you trusted me."

She looked up at him, the subtle vulnerability softening his eyes. Her heart softened as well and, after a long pause, quietly acquiesced. "Fine," she sighed wearily. Draco smiled and moved next to her on the couch, putting his arm around her shoulders. "We'll work on it a bit tomorrow," she said, "after we practice our Animagi transformations."

"And until then?" Draco asked.

Hermione kissed him on the lips. "The night is young and we have the room to ourselves," she whispered with a mischievous smile and a sparkle in her eye. "What do you think we could do?"


	36. Ch 36: February

Author's Note: Hey guys. I know this took forever and I apologize. I'm afraid I'm going to have to use the school/work/Twilight Series excuse...heh. But here it is, in all it's glory, Chapter 36. A little fluffy, but there are dark times ahead. Enjoy!

February

Their first day of class passed normally and their Animagi transformations were unsuccessful, per usual. After an hour and a half had passed, Draco set down his wand and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Hermione, let's stop for the night. I'm beat," he said with a yawn.

She got up from the floor and nodded. "Sounds good. I still don't understand why we're not getting it…"

"Who knows?" Draco shrugged, snapping for a House Elf. A minute passed and another elf appeared with a pitcher of ice-cold water, two glasses, and a tray of fruit, which was set on the table near the couch.

"So do you remember your promise?" Draco hinted. Hermione threw him a sideways glance and sighed almost imperceptibly.

"Yes," she said compliantly. "I'll be right back."

Draco settled himself on the couch, quite content that he had gotten his way. 'Not like I can let her know that,' he smirked, thinking of her undoubtedly angry reaction. He bit into an apple and chewed contentedly.

She came back down in a minute, clutching a file and several loose pieces of parchment in her arms.

"This is everything," she said. She dropped it onto the table with a soft rustle and sat down next to Draco.

He raised an eyebrow at her uncharacteristic lack of organization. "So where do we start?" he asked skeptically, flipping through some of the pages. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the writing. It seemed to morph and twist before his eyes, transforming into several different languages all at once. There was English, French, Gobbledygook, some ancient Rune script and…were those hieroglyphics? He blinked once, twice, to rid his eyes of the swirling black ink, but he could not.

"Encoded writing," Hermione explained, noticing Draco's distress. She waved her wand over the pile and immediately the writing stopped moving and turned legible.

"Clever," he remarked as Hermione sifted through the sheets.

"My first assignment was to find out if you were still working for Voldemort," she started. "Needless to say, I found nothing. I thought that was going to be it when Channing gave me another assignment, and quite an interesting one at that." She emitted a small "Aha!" as she spotted the appropriate paper and handed it to Draco. "I was to study Harry and find out his weaknesses so that he could better prepare himself for his fight."

Draco nodded in understanding and perused the list. "This is it?" he asked, furrowing his fair brow.

She nodded. "As I've worked, I've modified it. The other pages are an in-depth analysis of each of his so-called 'defects' and what can be done about them."

He looked at the parchment again and frowned: there were only two items on it. "It isn't very long."

"He isn't very weak," Hermione retorted, sending him a stern look. Draco rolled his eyes at her and continued reading.

"Magically weak – that makes sense, but you crossed it off."

"He's learned a lot," said Hermione.

"But against the Dark Lord? Hermione, everyone is magically weak against him." She gave him a deadpan look that threatened silently to take the research away before he could look further into it. He shrewdly decided to move onto the next item. "You crossed off mentally weak as well."

"He has good instincts and sharp reaction time. He's a pretty skilled Occlumens now too. And he can entirely resist the Imperius Curse."

"And what about the Cruciatus? Can Scarhead resist that?" he said bitterly.

"No," Hermione said in a whisper. "No one can."

"You'd be surprised," he said flatly.

Hermione winced and looked at him compassionately, making Draco feel incredibly self-conscious. He turned back to the list, his cheeks acquiring a light pink hue.

"Well, I already know that I'm going to help. I've spotted one that you've missed."

Hermione looked incredibly surprised. "What are you talking about?" she asked, shuffling through papers, as if looking for a misplaced idea. "Harry has everything he needs to win."

"Nope," said Draco confidently.

Hermione shook her head again and continued to search the pell-mell pile.

"He's a terrible liar."

Hermione was silent for a moment. "You're right," she said quietly. "He can't lie to save his life, which may end up happening…Nice catch."

Draco mock-bowed from the couch. "And for my next performance, I'll let you guess."

"Next performance?" Hermione asked with a quizzical look.

"The next flaw I found," he elaborated.

"There's another I missed?" Draco nodded. Hermione, ever incredulous, shook her head. "No way. No, I couldn't have missed two!"

"Sorry, but you have. He cares," he said simply. "He cares too much."

Hermione looked at him, completely confused. "What are you talking about?"

"He cares too much," Draco reiterated. "If one of you or one of the Weasleys were in danger, he would give himself up for your lives."

"He's already going to do that," Hermione said heatedly. "That's what he's doing in the battle – he's prepared to sacrifice his life for all of us, even for those he doesn't know."

"You misunderstand me, Hermione. If one of you, _one,_ ever got into the Dark Lord's hands, Potter would give himself up so that the hostage would live." Hermione's face fell and she looked blankly at the paper. "Do you deny it?"

"No," she said quietly. "You're right. He would give himself up for us, which is incredibly noble."

"Foolish," Draco said simultaneously.

Hermione looked at him appraisingly, an odd, mixed expression. Draco could only imagine what was running through her mind.

"Foolish," she said quietly. "You think so?"

"Yes. Potter's duty is to 'save the world'," he said with scorn. "He can't do that while constantly worrying about if his friends are alive or not."

"So he has to focus," said Hermione.

"Or forget. No matter how much he focuses on his task, what would he do if one of you were to die in battle?"

"It'd either kill him or make him stronger."

"That's a chance you can't afford to take, though. He needs to dissociate himself from his friends while fighting. It's about him and the Dark Lord, no one else."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Ginny…" she whispered. "What about Ginny?"

Draco gave her a strange look. "What about her?"

"They're going out." She said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world, which, Draco supposed, it was. "If Voldemort got his hands on Ginny, I don't know what Harry would do..."

"Anything," Draco answered for her. "If he loves her, he would do anything..." He said the last quietly, almost to himself.

Hermione, despite Draco's far-away look, allowed herself a warm smile, then got back to business. "I'll Floo Channing tomorrow and give him the news."

Draco gave a satisfied smirk and leaned back against the couch. "See? I _can_ help you. You should have told me sooner. Who knows how many more brilliant ideas I could have come up with?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and hit him playfully on the arm. "Yes, absolutely _stunning _ideas, Draco. Now if you could just put your intelligent mind to your homework, perhaps we'll get something else done tonight."

Draco groaned, but nevertheless grabbed his books. For the rest of the evening, Draco worked on Astronomy while Hermione concentrated on Ancient Runes. At about midnight, they headed to their separate beds for the evening.

XOX

Hermione fed Channing the information she and Draco had discovered. He was most pleased with her progress. Moody continued to send her updates from the Order every week. She did not talk to Draco about these matters, though that did not stop him from asking. But Hermione held firm in her decision to stay silent. It was business for Order members only. And even though she trusted Draco, she did not want to break the promise she had made at her initiation into the prestigious group.

A month passed. Valentine's Day was just around the corner and looming over Draco's head. He wanted to do something special, but he could not think of what. There were the ridiculously normal things – flowers, chocolates, sweet yet empty promises – but the thought of something so simple made Draco cringe.

All day it bothered him and, as Hermione slid into his arms on the couch that night, Draco felt distracted and absurdly worried. Hermione noticed his tension almost immediately and asked him what was wrong.

"Nothing," Draco answered quickly. "Just tired is all."

Hermione looked at him for a second then nodded and lay her head back down on his chest. "I won't keep you up for so long tonight, then," she said. Draco chuckled and lifted her head with his finger. Although a second ago he had a witty retort, words failed him as he met her eyes. He kissed her instead, a welcome alternative.

The task of Valentine's Day weighed even heavier on his heart. For a moment, he entertained the notion of simply asking her what she wanted. 'But that takes the fun out of everything. And I want this to be a surprise.'

Suddenly, he had an idea. He started with the genius of it, jolting Hermione.

"What was that?" she asked him, sitting up.

"Um, nothing," said Draco, sitting up now as well. "Listen, I'm sorry, but I've really got to get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow." With a quick peck to her lips, he quickly mounted the stairs and entered his room, feeling the need to make the proper arrangements immediately.

XOX

February 14th arrived. In fact, it had almost left. The Great Hall had been entirely decorated with garish pink and red hearts, causing young girls to giggle and boys to pretend to retch into their hats. Hermione sat at dinner with Ron and Ginny, her head resting on one hand while the other played with her mashed potatoes. She had a far-off look in her eyes, which bordered on tears every once in a while.

Ron was oblivious to the entire situation. He was much more fascinated with Lavender Brown, with whom he had reconciled and was once again dating. Ginny, though, noticed Hermione's melancholy and reached across the table, placing her hand comfortingly on Hermione's arm.

"I know how you feel, Hermione," she said with a weak smile. Hermione noticed that glitter of tears in her eyes as well. She sighed and nodded.

"I know, Ginny. Thanks."

With a friendly squeeze, Ginny turned back to her potatoes which, Hermione noticed, were piled similarly to her own. 'Obviously I'm not the only one hurting today,' she thought. She had not seen Draco for the entire day. And the days before that, he had been distracted and distant, giving Hermione an odd and not at all friendly feeling. It was ironic: on the day entirely devoted to couples, Hermione had been studiously ignored.

She glanced at her watch and sighed again. Deciding that just sitting at the table messing with her food was doing absolutely no good, Hermione excused herself and headed back towards her dormitory. As she approached, she found the portrait empty and frowned. Just then, a hand gripped her shoulder.

Hermione screamed and turned towards the wall where the hand had touched her. Out stepped Draco, looking quite pleased with himself for getting Hermione to elicit such a high-pitched exclamation.

Already not in the best mood, Hermione's day was not brightened by the scare. 'And the maniacal grin on his face isn't helping either,' she thought, thoroughly annoyed.

"I was hoping you would come back soon," he said, taking hold of her hand. Without explanation, he pulled her through the passageway and started to twist and turn through the castle walls. Hermione did not recognize the path he took and was growing more suspicious and anxious with each step.

"Where are we going?" she asked him.

"You'll see," he said mysteriously.

They finally exited the tunnel in front of the Room of Requirement. Hermione gave a reluctant smile. "Draco, what have you planned?" Her heart immediately felt lighter.

"Oh, nothing really," he said while walking in front of the room three times. A door then appeared and Draco pulled her towards it.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Hermione," he whispered into her ear as he shut the door behind him.

She gasped at the grandeur before her. A delicate and intricately wrought iron table covered in a cream table cloth sat in the center of the room, with two similarly fashioned chairs on either side. Upon it sat a vase with a single red rose. Light violin music came from an invisible source, making the candlelight from the ornate candelabras sway gently as if in a soft breeze. Tiny lights flitted about in the air with no discernable pattern. They seemed to be accompanied with the faint sound of bells. "iFaerie/i" Hermione breathed.

She turned to Draco, smiling radiantly. Tears of happiness filled her eyes as she hooked her arms around his neck. "Draco, it's beautiful." The small bit of worry that he wormed its way into his gaze left immediately at Hermione's words. "Thank you," she said, kissing him. "It's too much."

"With a Malfoy, it's all or nothing," he replied with a smile against her lips. With that, he took her arm, genteelly escorting her to the table. After seating her, he snapped his fingers and ordered for them both. They passed the meal with relatively little spoken conversation. All the words either had to say were more effectively transmitted through their eyes: gentle gazes, amused half-glances, and even a few smoldering, lust-filled looks.

After dessert, Draco passed a red velvet bag across the table. In it was her gift: another charm for the bracelet she received at Christmas. This time, it was a dragon, "To always remind you of me," Draco said with a charming smile. He nimbly attached it to the delicate silver chain and took her hand, helping her up. As she stood, the table disappeared completely and the floor shifted beneath her feet. She stumbled a bit, holding onto Draco for balance.

"What's happening?" she asked, looking at the floor. It changed from wood to exquisitely spiraled marble. In the corner, a bureau appeared, as did a changing screen. She looked up at him, raising one of her fine brows. "Draco," she said with a smile, "what the devil is this all about?"

He said nothing, but led her to the bureau. He opened it slowly, guarding the contents from her view for a moment before moving away. Hermione gasped as her ball gown hung before her, complete with mask, shoes, and gloves. Her soft eyes brimmed with tears once more as she turned to him.

"How long have you known?" she asked.

"Since the first time we kissed," he said in a low whisper. "No one else ever kissed me like you did that night. It had to be you." They relived the moment and he ushered her towards the wardrobe. Taking the hint, Hermione changed into the exquisite gown and did her hair and makeup as best she could. When she exited, Draco was already waiting for her on what she now realized was a dance floor. He was dressed as Don Juan and looked just as debonair as the first time.

The music started; Draco and Hermione's night had just begun. Until late into the evening, they danced, whispering subtle devotions into each other's ears and leaving only when the candles had burned down completely.


	37. Ch 37: Soaring

Author's Note: Hey guys! Um, not too much to say. We're winding down to the end of the story (gasp!), so that's really exciting. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Soaring

March arrived with gloriously warm weather. The trees in the Forbidden Forest shrugged off their dead look and started to bud and bloom. Students could be found frequenting the castle grounds much more often. The courtyards were full of teenagers who yearned for the feel of sun against their skin. Spots near the lake were particularly enviable, but only appropriate for dry days. It was becoming a habit for First Years to flee through the castle corridors away from Filch, who had resurrected his old vendetta against all forms of filth.

The last Quidditch game before the final was to be played within a week between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. It had already been determined that Gryffindor would be in the Championship game – even with Harry gone, Ginny still made a better-than-average Seeker. Ron's goaltending had steadily improved as the year progressed, thus locking their bid for the Cup. Ravenclaw was officially out, getting trounced by Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, who, to everyone's surprise, had quite a threatening team this year.

His alarm buzzed and Draco snaked his hand from under the blankets to turn it off. He had been actually been awake for the last thirty minutes, watching the time go by, concentrating on just how important this next game was. He and his team had studied Hufflepuff's moves and plays until they were memorized. They had gone over counter-play after counter-play, having two moves for one of their's. They were ready, and Draco knew it. But he still could not shake the nervous feeling that took residence in his chest; there was a lot riding on this game.

In the time leading up to it, Zabini and his two buffoons had stopped beating on him. 'For once, they have their priorities straight: win the game, _then_ make my life a living hell,' he thought with a wry grin. It was the one time Draco could recall where he was glad about being an afterthought. He had the feeling, too, that if they won this game, it would be a long time before he felt the sting of their hexes again.

With a sigh, Draco got up from bed and snapped for a House Elf. The little creature handed him is hot chocolate and Draco headed to the balcony. He sat in silence, looking over the forest, his body covered in goose bumps. So involved was he in the dawn that he did not notice Hermione come in until she snaked her hands over his bare shoulders and around his neck. Draco's goose bumps became more pronounced at her touch and a shudder ran through his body.

"Are you okay?" she asked, placing a small kiss right below his ear.

"Worried about the game."

"It's not until this evening."

"Five o'clock, I know. But it's just such a big one..." His thoughts trailed off and he gaze was captured by the forest once more, its long branches swaying in the gentle early-morn breeze. Apparently the sight had captured Hermione as well, for she did not speak, but sighed quietly.

"You _are _coming, right?" he said, not taking his eyes off the woods. It was a good thing Hermione could not see the anxiety etched into his face because of this simple question.

"Yes," she said simply.

His features relaxed almost at once and he nodded, taking a sip of his chocolate. The sun was just beginning to rise above the tips of the trees, turning the sky into an artist's pallet. Hues of color, from the receding deep purple of night to the soft yellow of a newborn sun, painted the sky. A flock of birds took off from the forest, flying across the sky and off into the distance. Draco took one of Hermione's hands and brought it to his lips, kissing it gently before turning into his room for his ritual shower and shave.

XOX

Hermione remained on the balcony, more than content to watch the remainder of the sunrise. Her thoughts were not tranquil, though. Last night, she had received a letter from Moody. The Order had finally verified the location of Voldemort's hideout. They needed one more piece of information as confirmation, which, the letter stated, was coming within the week. In light of this new information, the Order was planning a number of sting operations on the Death Eaters, designed to weaken their numbers. This gave the Order about two weeks to assemble a task force and brief them on their mission.

This news simultaneously gave Hermione hope and a stark sense of dread. It was now possible to stop Voldemort, or at least weaken him before the final battle. But what would be the loss on their end? The thought of losing her friends, no, her _family_, terrified her. While she knew it was necessary, she did not want them to risk their lives. She wanted to talk to someone about it, someone honest and relatively objective.

'Draco,' she thought. 'I want to talk to Draco.' Words from Moody, Channing, and the mysterious specter in the basement of Grimmauld Place reverberated in her mind: beware of whom you trust. She shook her head, trying to dislodge these thoughts, these doubts which formed an invisible wall between them. Hermione reflected on all that Draco had done for her over the past months, on how much he had changed, and she smiled.

'I trust him,' she thought with certainty. The sun completed its journey and was now fully above the horizon. 'I'll tell him tomorrow,' she thought, rising up from the table. She heard the shower taps turn off and made haste towards the door, allowing Draco his privacy.

With a grimace, Hermione entered her room and grabbed the jar of Floo Powder above her fireplace. As much as she dreaded it, she could no longer put off talking to Moody about Channing. Her suspicions of the man had only increased and, due to the recent developments, she decided it was now or never.

She threw a handful into the flames, which turned from bright orange to bright green in a matter of seconds. Tying her hair back, she knelt down and stuck her head into the flames. "Grimmauld Place," she commanded and almost instantly, the charcoal grate of the hearth was replaced by the dusty warmth of the Order's drawing room. In a stroke of luck, Moody was walking by at that exact moment.

"Professor!" she shouted from the fireplace.

She should have known better. Moody's blue eye swirled manically as the older man dropped to the floor in a duck, whipped out his wand, and blasted a hole in the fireplace somewhere above Hermione's head. She dodged the bits of rubble and tried to amend her mistake.

"Professor Moody, it's Hermione. Hermione Granger? I'm so sorry to have startled you…I should've written before popping in."

"Too true, Miss Granger," grumbled the old professor, picking himself up off the floor.

"Again, I'm sorry," she reiterated, "but I have to talk to you about something."

Moody levitated a chair near to the fireplace and sat down with a quiet thump. "What is it?"

"It's about Channing," she said conspiratorially. She scrutinized Moody's face for a reaction, but the ex-Auror looked entirely nonplussed. She continued. "I don't think he can be trusted. There were a few instances where I just got this feeling from him…I don't know how to describe it…Just the feeling that there's more to him than we know…than we can see…I'm just not entirely sure that his loyalties lie solely with us."

Moody looked attentive, but bored. "Do you have any proof?" he asked more out of custom than curiosity.

And it was here that Hermione was stuck. "No," she said honestly, "I don't. Nothing concrete, at any rate. But I can't help but think that things are a little…o_ff'_with him."

"Well, without more evidence, there's really not much I can do, is there?"

"But sir, if you could just look into the matter…just a bit…I know I would feel a lot-"

"You've said the word 'feel' far too often in this conversation, Miss Granger," Moody snapped. "I'm surprised someone as rational as you would make this kind of wild accusation without acquiring some sort of evidence to back it up. You know very well that we're over our heads here in planning and that I don't have time to chase the suspicion of a seventeen year old witch."

"But sir-"

"Listen, Miss Granger, and listen well," Moody continued, "as deep as your personal distaste for the man may run, we don't have the resources or the time to investigate it further. You're going to have to trust me: we would know if there was a traitor in our midst."

"Just like you did with Professor Snape?"

The words sprang from her mouth before she could stop them, and Moody's reaction was instantaneous. His electric blue eye stopped spinning, focusing directly on her, and the scars on his face deepened as he frowned in anger. "I think our business here is finished, Miss Granger," the man all but growled. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have _important_ business to attend to." He clunked out of the room with surprising efficiency, leaving Hermione alone and angry in the fire.

'Well that was completely useless,' she fumed, pulling her head from the grate. She stalked to the balcony and threw open the windows. The crisp air was at once soothing and clarifying. Moody had a point. Her decisions this morning had been entirely too rash. Accusing a fellow member without a shred of proof? Acting on a _feeling_?

'What the hell was I thinking?' she thought, her disbelief growing. Ignoring the urge to Floo him back and apologize, Hermione contented herself by harboring a small piece of regret in her heart and grabbing her Ancient Runes book. She made her way down to the Common Room to study for a few hours – a tried and true cure for any ill.

XOX

"Draco, you should eat at least _something_," Hermione said, shoving a dinner plate of bangers and mash in front of him. His stomach flipped at the very sight of food and he pushed it away.

"I told you I'm not hungry," he snapped. They had been having this conversation for the past five minutes and Draco was growing weary of Hermione's concern, no matter how appropriately placed it was.

"Fine," she said, her voice full of affront. "Don't eat. See what I care when you fall off your broom halfway through that silly game…" She crossed her arms and leaned back against the couch in a pout. Draco rose and began to pace before the fireplace. The locker rooms would not be open for twenty more minutes, meaning that Draco had nothing better to do than wait. He chewed his lower lip and ran his hands through his platinum hair for the tenth time in a minute, obvious signs of his agitation.

"Will you settle down?" Hermione snapped. "You're making me nervous."

His attitude on pins and needles, Draco lashed out. "What reason do you have to be nervous? You're not bloody playing today, are you?"

"No," she retorted, "I'm _watching_ you play that death-trap of a game which, for some reason beyond all comprehension, all you men are obsessed with! You could easily fall to your death and then where would I be?"

He had no good response to that, but yelling was making him feel better; he chose a different line of attack.

"You're not wearing one piece of green!" he accused.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Because that would make sense," she said. "The Gryffindor Head supporting the Slytherin House in what you consider 'the biggest game of the year'. Yeah, Draco, that'd go over real well."

"So you'd rather save face with your House than support me?"

Hermione launched herself up and placed herself in front of him, halting his pacing steps, arms akimbo. "What I would _rather do_," she said angrily, "is not arouse suspicion and alienate my friends! You know as well as I that we have to keep this a secret!"

"Whatever," Draco said, angrily taking his flashing steels eyes away from hers and looking at the clock. The locker rooms would be open by the time he got there. Without another glance at Hermione, Draco turned and stormed out of the portrait hole, effectively slamming it behind him, earning a disgruntled shout from the portrait guardian.

XOX

Hermione took a deep breath as she exited the castle and walked towards the Quidditch field. 'It's a beautiful day for the damned sport,' Hermione admitted. It was hard for her not to be soured by Draco's ill-humor not but thirty minutes prior, but the blue sky, light wind, and sun certainly did help a bit.

She heard her name shouted from somewhere behind her. Before she could turn around, Ron, with Lavender hanging off his arm, and Ginny were at her side.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?" Ron asked.

"Yeah," Ginny piped up from her other side. "I thought you hated Quidditch."

"I don't _hate_ it," she explained, "I just think it's silly. But I figured it's such a nice day, why not come out and enjoy it?"

Ron cocked an eyebrow. "That's never been a reason before. Usually you just come when Gryffindor plays. Today is Slytherin and Hufflepuff…Hermione, why are you really here?"

Hermione did not miss a beat. "McGonagall," she fabricated. "Since there's been so much trouble at the games this year, she wanted one of the Heads to come. And obviously, since Dra- _Malfoy_ is playing, that means I had to come." She rolled her eyes to heighten the effect.

This answer appeased both Ron and Ginny, and, if she even cared, Lavender. Together, they headed to the stands where they met up with Seamus, Dean, Neville, and Luna. They barely had time to sit down when streaks of yellow burst from the locker rooms. The Hufflepuff team zoomed around the field while the announcer, a Fifth Year Ravenclaw named Zoe, provided the commentary. The stands were in an uproar, almost everyone in the stadium showing obvious favor of Hufflepuff.

The Hufflepuffs gathered in a corner and seven green blurs took to the skies. Hermione struggled to refrain from cheering and refused to hiss in displeasure with the rest of her compatriots, though none of them noticed anyways. Hermione tried to catch sight of Draco, swearing she saw his bright blonde hair pass directly in front of her stands. But whether or not it was him, and whether or not he saw her there, she had no idea.

The game started on Madame Hooch's whistle. Fourteen figures launched into the air and whizzed around the stadium. While the game may have been physically draining on the players, it was emotionally exhausting to Hermione. Every close encounter Draco had with a Bludger took ten years off her life. Each time he slammed into another player or another player slammed into him, Hermione jumped. She had to bite her tongue to keep from yelling in outrage when a Hufflepuff player fouled him, making him bleed profusely from above his eye.

She was so concerned about Draco that she did not notice the state of the actual game. Three hours had passed already. Hufflepuff had a tenuous hold on the lead and the Snitch had been spotted twice. The crowd was becoming increasingly rowdy, as were the players. The fouls were more blatant and the cheers from the crowd were more outrageous. Just within her own stands, Hermione almost had to break up a fight between a Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw who, to her knowledge, had no reason to be fighting in the first place. The mood was getting desperate; the game needed to end soon or else something bad was going to happen.

As if the game were somehow in tune with Hermione's thoughts, the Snitch made an appearance. Both Seekers saw it and the chase was on. The entire stadium was on edge, sharply watching as Draco and the Hufflepuff Seeker vied for the little gold ball. With an extra push on his broom, Draco stretched out his hand. A gasp went out from the entire ground as his fingers glanced the wings. The Hufflepuff pushed and brushed the wings as well. Hermione impulsively brought her hand to her mouth as she saw Draco almost launch himself off his broom and grab the Snitch.

All except the Slytherins burst into screams of rage and disappointment. Hermione simply took a seat and hung her head between her legs, trying to catch her breath. Ron obviously interpreted her deep breaths as extreme disappointment, for he patted her on the back and said consolingly, "We'll win in the end, Hermione. Don't worry."

Not feeling so faint now, Hermione lifted her head in time to see the Slytherin team take a victory lap. Draco led them, the Snitch still held tightly in his hand. His face was one of unadulterated glee and pride. Hermione's heart soared with his broom and she smiled as he passed, subtly catching his eye and smiling. He grinned madly at her, winked, and continued his flight around the stadium.

"Well, time to get going. C'mon Hermione," said Ron.

"Um, you guys go. I have to stay behind and talk to McGonagall about that fight."

Her friends, too weary to question her further, nodded and trod towards the castle a bit despondently. Hermione hid in the shadow's of the stands until the crowd was well on their way into the school. She then averted her attention to the pitch where she saw Draco talking to his teammates. Hermione heard them all cheer and head off towards the locker room. As she hoped, Draco stayed behind at the very center of the pitch.

Light was quickly fading as dusk took the sky. Hermione came out from the stands and walked towards Draco, who seemed not to notice her presence until she was standing directly in front of him.

She was about to say something when Draco's feverish lips landed on her own, drawing her into a passionate kiss. He ran his fingers through her hair and nibbled on her lip as she moaned quietly into his mouth.

"You played wonderfully," she said after their embrace.

He looked at her with his gray eyes, which were shining brightly despite the faint light. "Fly with me," he whispered, looking at her imploringly.

Hermione's eyes widened and filled with the smallest hint of fear. "Draco, you know I don't…"

"Fly with me," he said in an even softer whisper. "Please." He distractingly played with a ringlet of her hair and kissed softly at her neck as she thought. Hermione looked furtively at the shiny piece of wood hovering not but a yard from them. The broom, steel eyes, the broom again, and back to his shining eyes and soft smile.

"Okay," she said in a small voice. He took her hand and led her over to the broom, which she noticed was emitting a low-toned hum.

"Is it supposed to do that?" she questioned warily.

He ignored her question, instead motioning for her to get on the broom. After a moment of hesitation, she swung a leg over. Her breathing began to quicken, her body wracked with shakes. Scenes of death by falling flashed in her mind, making her break out in a cold sweat. She had half a mind to jump right off the broom when Draco lowered himself behind her. Her breath hitched as he settled himself down.

Their bodies were completely flush. Hermione's back arched as his hot breath hit the back of her neck. He wrapped his arms around her. She shivered as Draco whispered into her ear.

"You ready?"

"No," she replied faintly.

She could feel his smile. "I won't let you fall," he said as reassurance. And before she could say anything, Draco kicked off hard from the ground.

A shrill scream escaped Hermione's mouth as they ascended into the night sky. Wind rushed past her ears as her stomach dropped and she pushed herself further into Draco, closing her eyes tightly against the sight.

How he knew Hermione would never know, but right as her eyes shut she heard Draco from behind her. "Open your eyes."

Against her better judgment, she did. They were moving slowly around the Quidditch Pitch. The world was passing them as if by panorama. The castle, the lake, the forest. Long shadows were cast upon the nighttime statuettes, elongating the eerie structures. The world was darkly beautiful. She gasped, her fear temporarily replaced by awe.

Her body started to relax, but too soon. She heard Draco chuckle deep in his throat. Before Hermione could utter one scream, the sound was stolen from her throat as they dove towards the ground. Her stomach dropped as the ground approached them faster than Hermione liked. Right as she was certain they would crash, Draco pulled up and sped around the arena.

She heard him laugh maniacally behind her and let out of whoop of exaltation. As the stands passed quickly before her eyes, her heart lifted slightly. She let a smile grace her face and even allowed a small, appreciative laugh at his obvious talent.

'Perhaps flying isn't that bad after all,' she thought. 'Or maybe just when it's with him.'

Draco pulled up and soared towards the castle, landing gently atop one of its many towers. He dismounted first, then helped Hermione, whose legs were shaking so badly that she fell into his arms.

"You okay?" he asked in a bemused tone.

"Yeah, yeah…" she responded weakly. "It was…different…"

He quirked an eyebrow at her and took a seat on the edge of the tower, his feet dangling dangerously off the edge. Hermione's chest tightened with worry as he reached out his hand and pulled her down next to him.

"Different?" he asked.

Hermione nodded. "Beautiful…exhilarating…utterly terrifying…" she laughed.

Draco chuckled as well and slung his arm over her shoulders. "I knew you'd come over to my side eventually," he smiled cockily.

Hermione playfully smacked his chest and laughed, brown eyes shining in the dark. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. They spent two hours in silence, then Draco flew them back to the ground. They dodged Helga's questions, ignored her knowing looks, answered her simple riddle ("What belongs to you but is more often used by others?" "Your name."), and parted ways for the eve.


	38. Ch 38: Transformations

Author's Note: Oh gosh, I don't know if I've ever been more nervous to post a chapter. This one is rated R...yeah...rated R. Read, review, and enjoy? :is nervous: Thisismyfirstattemptatsmut,begentlebuttellmewhatyouthink. :whew:

Transformations

Like her usual Saturday, Hermione was up far before anyone should be awake. She stretched, showered, changed, and went downstairs to get some breakfast, which she took on the couch in front of the fire. She read as she ate, yet another classic Muggle book her parents had sent her called Paradise Lost by John Milton. After about an hour of reading the epic poem, she set down her book and laid her head against the soft couch pillows, allowing her eyes a much-needed rest. Almost drifting off into a nap, she was startled from her half-sleep by a hand falling gently on her shoulder. She let out a soft exclamation of surprise and opened her eyes to find Draco standing above her.

"I didn't hear you," she said obviously.

"I couldn't tell," he teased. Draco sat down next to her, throwing an arm carelessly around her shoulders and kissing the top of her head. "So, what are the plans for today?" he asked.

"Well, preparation for our N.E.W.T.s is one. I've made study schedules but have fallen _so_ behind! After that, we should probably practice our Animagi transformations some more."

"I still can't believe no one's gotten it yet," he remarked.

"Me too," she replied, a distressed look entering into her eyes. "I thought we'd be the first people to achieve it. And of all the books I've read, I still don't know what we're missing."

Draco shrugged and snapped for a House Elf, who brought him breakfast with apt speed. "So, you've got almost the entire day planned. Anything else on the agenda?"

She hesitated for a moment, then said, "Well, yes. Later tonight, if I get everything finished, there's something important I want to tell you."

"Why wait?"

"Because it'll just be a distraction for the entire day. And we have too much to do to be distracted so early."

"You realize that by not telling me, I'll be distracted by thinking about what it could be, right?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Damned if I do, damned if I don't, then. Guess you'll just have to wait," she said with a shrug. She grabbed her bag, which was heavy with books, and started towards the portrait hole.

"Oh no you don't, Granger." The use of her last name startled her slightly, but she kept her face impassive as he spun her around. "I can tell this is something important. Spit it out." His grey eyes sparked; she could not help but feel a flutter of something in her heart, unsure if it was affection or fear.

"I'll tell you later," she reiterated, ignoring his annoyed expression. "Now, I'll be in the library until I finish, then we can practice." Pecking him quickly on the lips, she whisked out the portrait hole before he could even collect his thoughts.

Her time in the library passed quickly – too quickly for her liking. The eight hours she spent reviewing did not seem like enough to even _begin _to prepare her for the exams in a few months time. But also, she was beginning to have second thoughts about telling Draco about the Order's business. More often than she appreciated, her mind would wander from her books and she would mentally debate the subject, changing her mind several times, no doubt over-thinking the entire situation.

After a glance at the clock, Hermione decided it was about time for her to get going back to the dorms to practice Animagi transformations.

'That is, if Draco isn't in a funk…' She knew that she had left him in a bad state and had a feeling that he may have brooded over her abrupt goodbye and gotten angry. And anger was not what Hermione was looking for when practicing the particularly tricky bit of magic.

After a short chat with Godric and correctly answering his riddle ("What, when broken, is still correct twice a day?" "A clock."), Hermione stepped into the common room. She saw Draco lounging on the couch and she shuddered in delight. He was wearing loose-fitting sweatpants that looked amazing on him. It was very much unlike him to dress down, but he still looked every bit the prince when he did. He did not look up when she entered. Hermione rolled her eyes and dropped her bag near the stairs, addressing Draco as she did so.

"You ready?" she asked.

He merely grunted in reply and turned the page of his book which, she noted with annoyance, was _not_ a school book.

Her face puckered slightly as she struggled to retain her composure; his bad mood was quickly souring her own. "Well, get up then so we can make a practice area."

Again, he grunted and did not move.

Hermione groaned in exasperation and stood before him, arms akimbo and her face set into a hard mould. "Oh get over it!" she exclaimed. "I said I'd tell you later tonight. I left so quickly because I didn't want an argument."

"Well, obviously that didn't work, now did it?" Draco drawled from his spot on the couch. He hardly glanced up at her.

"Obviously not," she admitted bitterly. "Come on." She grabbed the book from him and closed it loudly, setting it on the far table.

He looked up at her now, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Feisty today, are we?"

"Just when I have work to do," she replied tartly. "Now stand up before I magic that couch out from under you."

He finally complied, and not a moment too soon. The black leather couch swiftly moved a few feet backwards. Draco, who was still in the process of standing up, regarded her with a challenging look. "Calm down, Hermione," he said slowly and condescendingly, further exciting her anger.

'He wants to see me upset,' she thought. Her cheeks flushed and her fists balled at her sides. 'And he just may get what he wants.'

"Let's just practice, okay?" With the touch of her wand against her head and the silent spell cast, Hermione half-transformed, per usual. Several more tries – several more half-transformations. With a lazy flick of his wand, Draco righted her. He leaned against the couch wearing a bored expression, even going so far as to yawn. Hermione knew he was not the least bit tired.

His apathy was infuriating. "Draco!" she shouted, "If you don't get into this, I'm going to turn into a fox and bite your bloody ankles!" With that threat hanging over his head and the very detailed mental image of her in fox-form nipping at his feet, she cast the spell.

Instead of the usual odd sensation of a half-human, half-animal being, her entire body kept to one form – the form of a red fox, with an especially bushy tail. Her senses sharpened keenly. She could smell every odor in the room – the grainy remnants of food, the sharp tang of cleaning supplies, the lingering clean smell of Draco's soap. Her ears could hear his sharp intake of breath as if it was a shout. Her sight was sharper too. Colors stood out brilliantly: the red on the walls was even more vibrant and the black couch seemed to glow paradoxically.

So excited was she that she bounded towards Draco, springing higher than she thought possible and nearly landing on him. He backed away quickly to avoid her falling form, which landed upright ground with perfect balance. With a mischievous look in her deep fox-brown eyes, she advanced on Draco, playfully snapping at his ankles, just as she promised.

XOX

Draco was still in shock that Hermione had transformed so quickly. He backed away from her sharp, biting teeth, looking like he was dancing a sort of complex jig. A confused look was on his face all the while. How was she able to transform so quickly after just beginning? What had set her off?

She kept harassing his feet and it was getting to the point where he wanted nothing more than to kick her away like an annoying cat. She yapped at him and kept advancing.

"Stop it, Hermione," he said, walking away from her swiftly. Whether or not she understood was irrelevant because she did not listen. Hermione jumped at his back, pushing her cold nose into his neck. He swatted at her and said with more force, "Stop!"

She did and looked up at him with amused brown eyes, as if to say, "Yeah right." With her fox grin firmly in place, she persisted.

With a frustrated and angry growl, he pointed his wand at his head and attempted the spell. In one, fluid movement, Draco became a magnificent gray wolf with shining silver eyes.

Surprised into stillness, Draco simply stood as Hermione bounded around, under, and over him. She jumped up at his face, licking and nipping, taunting him further.

Well, Draco was not about to take this abuse lying down. As soon as he got hold of his senses, he lunged after Hermione's spry form, chasing her around the common room. Where he had size, she had speed. He was barely able to get a paw at her when she dodged out of his way, sometimes jumping onto his back to escape him. Finally, she stopped running and grabbed his ear playfully in her mouth. He flopped down onto the floor and they rolled around, playing together like two pups, effectively destroying their Common Room. Tables overturned and lamps clattered to the floor, miraculously staying intact. Neither noticed, though, too wrapped up in each other to care.

Both panting heavily, they collapsed on the ground, Draco pinning down Hermione's petite fox form. She transformed, trading her bushy tail for bushy hair. Draco followed suit, his sleek wolf body changing back into his human one.

He propped himself up on one arm as he looked down at her, blond hair falling softly into his eyes. She smiled and lifted an arm to tuck the falling strands away, letting her fingers trail down his jaw line and along his chin as she did so. Eyes half-closed in contentment, he captured her lips in a soft kiss, relishing their closeness. To feel her heart race as he cupped her breast, to hear the soft whimpers and moans that unconsciously escaped her mouth as he kissed her…It was more than he could ever ask for. It was bliss.

After a while, the tempo of their necking changed. An element of need – of pure, primal, lust – worked its way into what was originally an innocent gesture. Draco devoured her mouth greedily, sucking and biting her at lower lip, capturing it between his teeth and growling in satisfaction as her hand worked its way up his shirt. He trailed kisses along the sensitive flesh of her neck as she explored the arena of his chest, trailing her nails along his nipples, down his abdominals, and towards his hips, tentatively seeking the button to his pants.

Draco felt a sudden jolt to his crotch as she cupped him through his trousers and he stopped momentarily, realizing the gravity of the situation. Their shirts had long since been discarded and their legs were intertwined, hips pressed together tightly, Hermione's insistent hand being the only separator between them – and a welcome one at that.

Hermione noticed his stillness and looked up at him questioningly. Draco couldn't help but smile at what he saw. Her face was flushed and her brown eyes were glazed with lust. She licked her perfectly pink, perfectly swollen lips, causing Draco to stiffen again.

"Hermione," he whispered huskily. "Hermione, what do you want?"

Though she did not speak, her eyes betrayed her intentions. '_I want you_,' they glittered, '_I want all of you_.' Mischievously quirked lips kissed him hungrily and that was all the answer Draco needed. Her tongue was a flame searing into his mouth and she moaned into him, grinding her hips against his.

"We should move this to somewhere more comfortable," Draco managed to croak. She nodded in agreement and both were up in a flash. They nearly ran up the stairs, unable to keep their hands off each other. Draco backed Hermione up against the door to his room and kissed her passionately as she fumbled for the knob. The door finally opened and they entered, Draco kicking it shut behind them.

Lips locked, he backed her into the bed. She fell onto it with a surprised squeal which turned into a moan as Draco's hands began to roam, tracing the contours of her body, from her full breasts to her firm butt, which he pulled closer against his groin. No inch of skin was left unexplored by his fingers or lips. He memorized her every detail: the smell of her neck and collarbone, the taste of the sensual area between her breasts, the feel of her stomach…It was all his.

_She_ was _his_.

His nimble fingers worked at the button and zipper of her pants, which Hermione seemed more than happy to be rid of. Soaked silk panties were next, followed quickly by his pants and boxers. He sat back for a moment and admired what was laid in front of him, taking in the entire sight: chocolate brown curls spread on the pillow like a halo, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed, nipples at attention, chest heaving, fingers grabbing for him, her entire body starved for contact that could only be satisfied by his touch.

It was intoxicating. _She_ was intoxicating. Draco captured her lips in a devouring kiss and pressed his length against her opening, breathing into her ear. He was about to ask if she was ready, but her moan cut him off. "Draco…"

He muttered something that she didn't quite hear. "What?"

"Contraceptive charm," he explained in a whisper. She made a small, "Ah," of understanding, which deepened and lengthened as he touched himself to her. That was all the permission he needed. With excruciating slowness, he eased into her, filling her completely. Almost simultaneously, they gasped – one in pleasure, the other in pain, but both with surprise.

One being now, they were all senses. Hermione's sweat mingled with his own, their pungent scent filling the air. Their bodies were wet with exertion and glowing, ethereal in the moonlight. His touch was everywhere and she heard every breath, every grunt, and every groan. Synchronized, they moved, as if they had been doing this dance their entire lives. Together, they came to climax, panting and shuddering and whispering each other's names like a prayer.

Draco pulled out and collapsed next to her, breathing heavily, blonde hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Hermione, too, was breathing heavily, and her skin glistened. As brushed steel met melted chocolate, an unspoken pact was made: they would share a bed for the rest of the year and, circumstances willing, even longer. Draco reached over and pulled Hermione's body close to his, curling her into him possessively. She was his. He was hers. And that is how it would stay.


	39. Ch 39: The Curse of Inevitability

Author's Note: Hey guys...so I know I've gotten really lax with updating (shame on me), but I excuse it to 1) being busy and 2) the fact that there are three chapters left. Eep! I don't want this to end! But, end it must. Thanks so much for all your support during this crazy posting journey and, please, enjoy!!

The Curse of Inevitability

Hermione had no idea of the time, only that she had slept in longer than ever before. What felt like the noon-sun streamed through Draco's bedroom windows and landed on her back, warming her into a blissful state of half-consciousness. She smiled as she remembered last night and snuggled deeper down into the blankets, absently moving her arm around the bed to locate Draco. All she found were blankets.

Furrowing her brow, she slowly opened her eyes, squinting in the sun. She sat up, pulling the black satin sheet up with her to keep herself covered.

"Draco?"

The bathroom door opened and out he stepped, a black towel hanging low on his waist, contrasting sharply with his pale skin. Hermione could see the irresistible 'V' of his pelvis and the beginnings of a thatch of pale blonde hair. His hair was still wet and sticking up wildly where he ran his fingers through it and his body glistened with still-evaporating water. Chills ran down Hermione's spine; he looked absolutely delectable.

When he saw she was awake, he smiled charmingly and walked over, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Hey you," he said, cupping her face and giving her a kiss that made her melt. "How did you sleep?"

"Wonderfully," she said with a smile. "And you?"

"I slept great."

She smiled and looked down, fiddling with her hands in her lap. She was nervous again. For absolutely no reason, she was nervous. Draco seemed to notice and chuckled almost silently.

"Go ahead and shower," he said. "Breakfast, or should I say lunch, will be waiting for you when you finish."

"Thank you," she said softly. He kissed her again before he grabbed his clothes and left.

She stayed in bed for a few more minutes, thinking about what had happened last night. Never had she been so content. With a silly smile on her face, she rose, swiftly walking to the closet to put on Draco's black silk robe.

Hermione shivered as the smooth fabric caressed her skin. iThis boy has great taste/i she thought as she grabbed a green towel from the shelf.

Hermione took her time in the hot shower, letting the water relax her muscles fully. By the time she was out, thirty minutes had passed, but she felt great. Toweling off her hair as much as she could, she dashed over to her room to find clothes. She changed, put a serum into her hair to make it behave, and headed downstairs, greeted by the breakfast Draco promised.

They ate together in casual conversation that was not as awkward as Hermione had feared. In fact, she was just starting to get truly comfortable with the change in their relationship when Draco asked seemingly out-of-the-blue, "So, what did you want to tell me last night?"

Her mood darkened slightly and she became quiet and introspective for a moment. "I've been debating about this for a while," she said as a preface. "And I'm still not sure if I should tell you." She paused and looked at her hands in her lap. "But I will, because I trust you, and think that you might even be able to help us. But before I go further, you must promise me one thing."

"Yes?"

"Don't let on that you know anything. If the Order found out that I'm doing this, I would be in heaps of trouble."

"I promise," he said, setting down his plate. "Now what is it?"

"Some intelligence has come into the Order about Voldemort, more specifically the locations of his Death Eaters. We need one more piece of information before we launch the first of many sting attacks against them. We want to weaken their numbers before the final battle to give us the upper hand."

She said all of this very quickly while watching his face intently, searching for signs, but of what she was not sure. She need not have bothered, though. Draco's face remained completely impassive. Not even his eyes betrayed his thoughts. It was slightly unsettling. Next came the expected string of questions.

"Where is the first hit going to be?"

"We got a tip that they are planning something in London and we have the location of their base. That will be our first area of attack."

"When is this due to occur?"

"In a few days," she said. "Moody will write me when something happens."

"How many men has the Order assembled?"

"At least ten for each sting, assuming none are lost."

He nodded slowly. "What are their plans?"

"Non-lethal force," she said. "They want them alive for…questioning." She recalled the cold steel table and the syringe chandelier in the basement of Grimmauld Place and could not help but grimace. "Do you have any suggestions?" she asked.

He was silent for a moment, engrossed in thought. "More men, if they can spare them. But I know the Order is short on volunteers…Use cover, work as a team…Everything they already know to do."

"You don't think the Death Eaters have any tricks?"

"They might," Draco said. "But I don't know for certain." Hermione saw him twitch at the memory of his last confrontation with Voldemort. He had never told her what happened, and really, she did not want to know. She had seen the scars, felt them with her own hands. She gasped the first time her fingers ran over the upraised pieces of skin on his otherwise smooth back and stopped kissing him when she did. As she traced the scars with her fingers, her brow furrowed. Her mind played scenes of what his life must have been like growing up with that kind of evil; it nearly made her sick.

She had seen his arm, too. The Dark Mark continued to glow black against his pale skin like an unfriendly and unyielding reminder of who he was and where he had come from. Her fingers ran over the tattoo gently, tracing its outline as she studied it intently. She remembered Draco's embarrassed but defiant eyes – no doubt he was reliving each of the painful memories. They simply held each other for the rest of that night.

Draco's question tore her from her reverie. "Will you know every time something like this happens?" he asked.

"Yes," she said with certainty. "Moody agreed to keep Ron and I involved as much as possible. We will know whenever a sting takes place. And you will know too," she promised.

He nodded, his face still impassive. "Thank you," he said. He looked distracted, and Hermione did not blame him in the least. She decided it was best to leave him alone with his thoughts. After all, even though he had experienced countless tortures by their hands, it could not be easy to handle the thought of their imminent deaths.

"I'm going to go off to the library now," she said. "I'll be back later today." She grunted with effort as she picked up her bag which nearly tore from the weight of the books.

"Alright, have fun," he said with a forced grin. She pecked him quickly on the lips, then slid out of the portrait as Draco headed up to his room.

XOX

At breakfast three days later, two foreign owls swooped down to the Gryffindor table. One landed in front of Ron. The other in front of Hermione. They locked eyes, knowing looks passed across the table. Each knew what the letter held, each knew it had to be read, but neither wanted to do it.

Hermione took a deep breath and tore her eyes away from Ron, looking at the letter shaking slightly in her hands. She broke the red wax seal and subtly tapped the encoded writing with her wand. The cipher swiveled before her eyes, then stopped into the logical arrangements of words she already knew: the Death Eater's location had been confirmed – the Order was attacking tomorrow.

Her face turned somber as she folded the letter and shoved it into her bag. She looked at Ron. Seeing his usually bright face turn dark coursed uncomfortable prickles down her spine.

The rest of the day she spent in a haze, hardly paying attention in her classes. The professors may have noticed but, since half of them were involved in some way with the Order, they did not draw attention to it. Their thoughts were obviously preoccupied as well, so for them to draw attention to Hermione's lack of focus would have been hypocritical.

She passed dinner with her fellow Gryffindors who were much too cheery for Hermione's liking. She sneered at Parvati's obnoxious laugh, which she excused to a bad carrot. 'It's not like they know about any of this, though,' she reasoned, focusing back on her meal. 'They're blissfully ignorant about this whole situation…a situation that could explode into their lives and ruin everything within a moment…a situation that we'll all have to cope with eventually. The war is inevitable, as are the deaths of the people fighting it.'

Eyes beginning to well with tears, she rose smoothly and left the table, earning no more than a cursory look from anyone that would care – if they really knew her, then they knew what had her so upset. As soon as she exited the Great Hall, she turned into the secret passage to the dorms and walked halfway through it so that no one would see her tears.

She sat on the floor and cried into her arms. They were noisy sobs of sadness, anxiety, and fear. In many ways, they were preemptive. Nothing had even happened yet, and nothing was going to until tomorrow. But just knowing that something might go wrong, that her friends may lose their lives, brought a whole new sense of reality.

Loss was not something she wanted to live with.

And neither was change.

But with one comes the other. Change was inevitable; therefore, so was loss.

She sniffed loudly and wiped her streaming eyes on the hem of her robes. Her head was pounding now. All she wanted to do was go back to the room, curl up in Draco's bed, nestled in his familiar-smelling blankets, and sleep until this whole thing was over.

But first she had to get through the portrait. She gasped as she realized who was guarding the portrait. It was Salazar Slytherin, and he was reading a book. He also looked bored out of his mind. He gave a much-exaggerated yawn as Hermione approached and, even though he knew she was there, paid her no mind, continuing to read instead.

He was a slim man, but by no means did he look weak. There was a strong quality about his wiry frame, although how Hermione knew this was unclear as he was wearing beautiful green and black robes accented lightly with silver. It could have been his face, though, that was so strong. He dark eyes were set deep beneath his brows, giving them a hooded and slightly suspicious cast as he regarded her sideways. She suspected he hid emotions well in those eyes and that he probably knew of that skill. His nose as long, thin, and straight, jutting out over his mouth, which looked like it had never before smiled. Numerous lines surrounded it, almost seeming to pull deeper into its downwards cast. All this was topped off with smooth, black hair that hung curtain-like on either side of his face.

She studied him for a moment before making a small noise in the back of her throat to attract his attention. He ignored her still until she coughed loudly. Feigning surprise, Salazar looked up from his book and regarded her steadily.

"Yes?" His voice was deep and laced with a condescending tone which he probably used when addressing everyone.

So surprised was she at his presence, that Hermione did not think to speak. Annoyed, Salazar cleared his throat, speaking louder this time. "Young lady, is there something you want or have you disturbed me only so that you could waste precious minutes of my time?" His annoyance practically dripped from the painting.

"Oh, excuse me, sir. I was just thinking."

"Think on someone else's time then. I'm busy," he lied. Losing interest in her, he turned slowly back towards his book.

"I need to get in, please," she said before he could get back to pretending to read.

He gave her another sideways glance and turned towards her fully now, regarding her head-on for the first time.

"And why would I let you in here?" he questioned.

Hermione was affronted, but tried not to let it show. "Because I am Head Girl," she said, lifting her chin slightly and standing up straight. "My name is Hermione Granger."

He regarded her skeptically, yet surely he knew exactly who she was. She could have sworn she heard him mutter something beneath his breath about "filth" and "unworthy", but Hermione decided to let it pass. She did not want to incite an argument with the man who had control over her room.

With an over-the-top sigh, he gave her the riddle. "I make you weak at the worst of times. You keep me close, I keep you fine. I make your hands sweat and your heart grow cold. I visit the weak, but seldom the bold. What am I?"

Hermione furrowed her brow, crossing her arms in thought. This one really was tough. She thought the clue through, twisted it inside of her mind, trying to wring meaning of the cryptic words. 'The riddles usually have some sort of applicable meaning,' she thought, 'and I'm sure Salazar is no different. So how could this riddle apply to something that's happening now…Weakness…sweat…cold…' Her eyes grew wide with revelation.

"Fear."

With just a hint of a scowl on his face, the portrait swung open slowly, allowing her admittance. Hermione climbed past him, stumped, as always, as to how those portraits knew so much.

XOX

Later that evening, Draco walked through the door. He just came from Quidditch practice and looked completely worn out. Hermione called up tea for him as he flopped down on the couch, laying his head back against the leather.

"Who was at the portrait when you came in?" she asked.

"Helga," he responded, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. "Why?"

"Oh, I was just wondering," she said with a small glance in his direction. On a normal day, Draco would have questioned her further, but since he was so tired, all he did was grab a cup of tea.

He sipped it in silence, visibly relaxing as the brew ran through his system. Hermione knew that what she was about to say would only make him more tense, but there was no other time she could tell him. And there was no other way to say it that bluntly.

"The Order is attacking tomorrow," she said without preface. She regarded Draco steadily, watching him put down his tea and stare off into the fire.

"When?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know – they didn't specify a time. I can't even give you an estimate…"

He sighed and rose stiffly. "I'm going to shower," he stated. "Then do you want to practice our Animagi transformations after?"

Hermione nodded and watched him slowly mount the stairs. She could practically feel the tension coursing through his body and it was keying her up.

'A shower will do him good,' she thought. 'But until then…'

She summoned Paradise Lostfrom her room and settled down to read it, hearing the fire pop and crackle softly in the background.


	40. Ch 40: The Reports

Author's Note: Yeah, quick update, I know (for a friend who had a bad day - feel better, lovee!) Anywhoodles, two more chapters left! Gah! Thank you all so much for being incredible. Read, review, and enjoy!

The Reports

"It has been far too long since your last correspondence," said Lord Voldemort from his wing-backed chair. "_Far. Too. Long._" He glared into the fire, sneering, his pointed teeth bared menacingly.

"I'm sorry, my Lord," the figure apologized. He looked down contritely, although his eyes said otherwise. Even through the fire, they were somehow simultaneously defiant, proud, and guilty. Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the man's flickering expressions.

"What have you to tell me?" Voldemort demanded.

"Information of a most interesting sort."

"You had best not disappoint."

"I promise, my Lord, you will not be dissatisfied."

XOX

Hermione was on pins and needles the entire next day. People spoke to her and she started, covering up her anxiety with ramblings about her N.E.W.T. preparations and study habits. Her eyes had deep, dark rings around them, her skin was pale, and she had no appetite. She drifted in and out of focused thought, sometimes spending entire classes uncharacteristically staring at the gray stone walls, wondering when she was going to get news. Her eyes were forever trained on the skies; each black speck against the bright blue background was a potential owl carrying news about how the first sting operation went.

The day passed with no word, nearly driving Hermione to the brink of tears when she and Draco were lying together in bed. They had exchanged no more than ten words the entire day. It was not that they were angry at each other; indeed, nothing could be further from the truth. Both were just so tense that normal conversation seemed vastly inappropriate and embarrassing.

Hermione lay in his arms, warm, comfortable, and looking steadily at the ceiling, almost drifting off to sleep despite her worry. She then heard a quiet tapping coming from the window and was up in a flash to open it.

In flew an unfamiliar owl, a hefty note attached to its leg. Hermione gasped and her hands shook as she attempted to untie the note. She felt Draco's presence behind her, steadying her only slightly. Once freed of its object, the owl flew away, but she hardly noticed. Hermione clutched the unopened roll of parchment tightly. She was looking at it as if it was going to burst into flames at any moment.

"Hermione," Draco whispered, "open it."

She breathed deeply as her shaking fingers tore the wax seal. She used Draco's wand to decode the encrypted writing and read the news enclosed. It was then that she fell to the floor in a dead faint.

XOX

Draco's quick reflexes prevented Hermione's head from knocking into the ground, but just barely. He fell down with her, landing underneath to shield her from the floor. His blindly groped for his dropped wand, whispering a quiet "Aha" when he located it.

"_Ennervate_."

She blearily opened her eyes, which were confused for a moment. The confusion almost instantly turned to fast-falling tears. She eased herself up into a sitting position and sobbed into Draco's shoulder, mumbling incoherently, no doubt about the letter's contents. Her body shook with the exertion of her grief. Whatever news she may have received, it must have been bad.

"Shh, Hermione," he said, gently rocking her. He stroked her hair and buried his face into her neck. "Shh. What happened?"

She lifted her head, not bothering to wipe her eyes. "The r-raid…" she said brokenly. "It was…three members…Death Eaters…killed…" She broke down again, sobbing loudly. It was a heart-wrenching noise. Draco hated to hear it.

"Who?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

She sniffed loudly and took a shaky breath to strengthen herself. "Doge, Jones, and…and Mundungus." She made it final by saying it, renewing the strength of her tears.

His expression was unreadable as he continued to hold her close. Eventually, she calmed down enough to allow Draco to ease her into his bed, where he continued to hold her until she fell asleep.

By the next day, of course, all Order members had heard the news. Ginny looked as if she had been up all night crying. Ron simply walked around in a daze. The few professors involved showed their grief subtly, assigning busywork for their students while they sat at their desks, head in hands, thinking about where it all went wrong.

These were the thoughts that currently occupied Hermione's mind while she stared at her Transfigurations book. Her face changed expressions as her thoughts took their course, winding through probabilities and scenarios, each one as likely and as frightening as the next.

'Were we really just that unprepared? It seems unlikely, but three deaths…We were expecting some injuries, yes, but _death_…' She shuddered involuntarily. 'We _were _prepared, though. Doge, Jones, and Mundungus have been in the Order for years. It's not like they were new recruits…They know how to handle Death Eaters. Something else must have gone wrong. But what?'

She jumped as a sleeping student slipped off her hand and crashed her head onto the desk. With a weary look, McGonagall took five points from Gryffindor, then went back to her musings. Hermione did the same.

'Maybe the Death Eaters are somehow more powerful than we thought. Is it possible that we underestimated them? That we underestimated Voldemort? It's plausible that he has some bigger kind of magic…something that we can't defend ourselves against…' Hermione crinkled her forehead and shook her head. 'No,' she thought, 'that's ridiculous. The most powerful kind of magic is love, and Voldemort definitely does not have love. Fear, yes, but not love.'

And so she was at a mental impasse once more. The two most obvious reasons for the Order's failure had been ultimately shut down and Hermione was back at square one. She felt like she was missing something, like the answer was on the very edge of her mind, wafting nearly invisible like a coil of smoke in the wind. Whenever she tried to grasp it, it floated farther out of range, frustratingly elusive.

She calmed her mind and breathed deeply, subconsciously willing the intangible thought closer. Just as it had almost completely crossed the threshold of logical thought, someone let off a Dung Bomb on the far side of the room.

Hermione was jolted out of her reverie violently as she held the sleeve of her robe to her face to block out the smell. She looked to McGonagall, who stood up, a tired sternness apparent on her features.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Thomas," she said sharply. "You will stay after to clean up this mess," she said, gesturing towards the bomb's remnants. "The rest of you are dismissed."

Back in her room, Hermione tried to regain her composure and her quiet state of mind. After ten minutes of silence, though, she reluctantly decided that the idea that had been drifting on the edge of her mind was gone, at least for now.

XOX

As Hermione drifted off to sleep in Draco's arms later that night, after they had both achieved successful Animagi transformations (by Hermione's urging, of course), Draco thought of how incredibly odd this day had been.

It seemed that all the teachers had heard of the Order's losses the previous day, and each took the news in a different way. McGonagall had been melancholy and looked at least twenty years older, which was quite remarkable given how old she was already. Ordinarily easy-going Flitwick was deducting House points at the drop of a hat. Slughorn was remarkably tight-lipped.

The students, too, acted strangely. Those few connected to the Order were expectedly depressed. Their friends, sensing that something was wrong, took on that mood too. It was as if the entire castle had been plunged into a gray cloud despite the bright blue ceiling of the Great Hall.

And then there was his conversation with the portrait.

Draco casually strolled up to the entrance to the dormitory, his nose stuck in the Quidditch playbook he was reading. He expected the portrait to simply give him the riddle as usual. He knew that Hermione was prone to have conversations with the characters, but it seemed that they had all taken a strong disliking to Draco. So there was no hiding the surprise written across his features when a strong voice addressed him from the frame.

"And look who has decided to grace me with his presence," said Salazar Slytherin with a devious-looking grin. "It's been some time since I had one of the Malfoy name roaming this castle."

Draco just stood there, mouth hanging open. He had not seen Salazar in the portrait all year.

"My compatriots know better than to force to me do something," he said as an answer to Draco's thought.

Finding his tongue, Draco replied. "And why now would you want to guard?"

Salazar let off a sharp, cackling laugh that ended in a quiet wheeze. "My dear boy," he said in a condescending tone, "the life you lead is just starting to get interesting. Changes are occurring more quickly than anyone anticipated. You could not expect me to miss such fun," he said with a greasy smirk. Draco furrowed his brow in an attempt to understand the portrait's odd words. Salazar clarified. "You know very well what has changed. Circumstances are quite different now that you and that Mudblood have fu-"

"Her name is Hermione," Draco interrupted with a glare, the conversation taking a sharp, and permanent, turn towards the negative.

His grin turned into a soft snarl as he continued, "now that you and _Hermione_ are lovers."

Unconsciously, Draco drew himself up, lifting his head into the air and going on the defensive. "What would that have to do with anything?" he asked sharply.

"Boy, do not test me," Salazar warned, rising from his seat. He walked towards the frame slowly as he spoke. "You know quite well what has changed between you both. But if you need me to spell it out for you, then allow me the pleasure. _You have her_. You have her mind. You have her body. You have her _trust_. You hold her very _being _in your pale, miserable, little hands, able to lift her up or destroy her, completely dependent on your mindset at the time, which is as erratic and volatile as the beast for which you were named."

Draco scowled at the portrait, wondering as Hermione often had about how they knew so much. "What makes you think that I would destroy her?"

At this, Salazar raised a gristly black eyebrow. "Would you not?"

Draco lifted his chin defiantly. He was tired of these games and refused to play along further. "What is your riddle, _portrait_?"

A look of shock crossed Salazar's face. "The impudence!" he said heatedly, sparks flying from his painted wand. His hand twitched at his side as he stared Draco down, his beetle-black, sunken eyes bored into Draco's flashing silver orbs. After a moment, Salazar released an angry breath and gave Draco the riddle. He answered it and stepped through without so much as a "Thank you" to Salazar.

As he stepped inside though, he heard Salazar's farewell. "This shall not be the last time we speak, young Malfoy, mark my words." The last was said with more than just the hint of a threat, something that normally would not have frightened Draco, but now chilled him to his core.

His encounter had been interfering with his thoughts for the rest of the day, even to the point where Hermione was able to pull herself away from her own distractions and notice that something was wrong with him. He waved off her worry; there was no use telling her what Salazar had said – it only would have troubled her. And more stress was one thing she did not need.

Hermione shifted against his bare chest, diverting his attention away from his day and to the woman asleep in his arms. He lightly played with the curls in her hair until he dozed off into a fitful sleep.

XOX

A few days passed. The shock of losing the Order members was beginning to wear off, but the newly-opened wounds were nowhere near close to healing. That is why, when Hermione received her next correspondence with the Order, she was caught complexly between deep depression and fuming anger. She tossed the letter down on the table where Draco was doing his homework. Tears of frustration already lined her blazing eyes, threatening to spill.

"I can't believe this!" she yelled, starting to pace before the fire. Draco picked up the letter and read it silently as Hermione continued to rant, gesticulating wildly.

"They want to go in after him again. In three days. This is unbelievable. Simply unbelievable! We've already lost three of our members and we don't even have that many to begin with! I mean, what is Moody thinking? Has he completely lost it? Maybe we should have him replaced…do you think Kingsley would take over?"

"Hermione," Draco interjected, "I don't-"

"Maybe I should write him. He's part of the Order and everything, yes, but I don't think he would agree with Moody about this. Ha, who am I kidding? _No one_ should agree with Moody about this…Oh, I wonder what _Harry_ thinks! And if Ron has found out yet! Merlin, what will they think? What will they-"

"Hermione!" Draco got up from the couch and gripped her arms, halting her frantic pacing. "You need to calm down," he said authoritatively. "Realize this: you may be a part of the Order, but you have no rank." Her mood immediately changed into one of indignation and she was about to say something when Draco put two fingers over her lips. "You have no control over what Moody does or the decisions he makes," he said more forcefully. "You have your opinions, yes. Everyone does. But it will do no good raising a fuss."

She shook her head away from his hand. "Yes there is! If I can make my displeasure known, maybe he'll stop!"

"Because of one person? Hermione, be realistic," Draco said in exasperation. "Besides, you said yourself that the Order was low on members. They don't need dissension; they need support."

"Moody needs to know that this decision is wrong, that it will only end in more tragedy," Hermione persisted stubbornly. The hard and passionate look in her eyes diminished only slightly in the face of Draco's cool logic.

"You don't think he's calculated the risk?" Draco asked incredulously. "He's leader of the group that was formed to fight the Dark Lord. Do you have such little faith in him? Do you not think he knows what he's doing?"

The veneer of control Hermione had been tenuously gripping cracked at his infallible logic. All of her terrified, spinning thoughts seemed to intensify tenfold and destroyed the stacks into which she ordered her mind. Mental debris flying, Hermione let loose a gut-wrenching sob and threw herself into Draco's arms, which wrapped around her protectively. They tightened as she shook with the force of her world falling to pieces, disintegrating to rubble as the stress of her life took its toll.

Draco held her close, silent for a while as she cried into his shoulder. After a while, he spoke more gently, keeping her pressed to his chest. He buried his head in the nape of her neck, breathing in her delightful, delicate smell, memorizing each nuance. He closed his eyes and sighed. "None of this is going to be easy," he murmured.

"Draco," she confided softly, "I'm scared."

He stiffened and said nothing. Instead, he held her tighter.

XOX

He never knew how his body woke up at the exact same time each night, but, like every other night, it did. 2:35 am. Clockwork. Silently, he slipped from beneath the sheets and made his way downstairs to the fireplace.

His hands shook, flickering in the firelight as if they were merging in and out of existence, as he reached for the Floo Powder. No matter how many times he had faced the Dark Lord, it was always nerve-wracking. He knew that the Dark Lord could not touch him through the fire. He knew that he was safe. And still, when that menacing look crossed his red eyes and when that snarl bared his pointed teeth…He shuddered involuntarily and looked at the clock.

2:45. It was time.

He dashed the Floo Power in, turning the fire bright green. With a deep breath, he stuck in his head. A moment later and he was looking up at the Dark Lord, who was, as usual, sitting in his red, wing-backed chair.

"So soon?" came Voldemort's high-pitched hiss. "I was not expecting another report for at least two weeks."

"Things are moving along more quickly than anticipated," explained the head in the fire. He twitched imperceptibly. His appearances in front of Lord Voldemort were always longer than he wished them to be. Wanting to leave, he got to the point. "Another attack is being planned."

Voldemort's reaction was almost comical. He tried to hide his surprise, but poorly. Sitting straighter in his chair, his face deadly serious, he posed his question. "When?"

"Two days. My guess is with increased force."

Voldemort's face was pensive as the figure in the fire waited anxiously to be dismissed. Soon, the blessed order came and Voldemort faded from view.

He flung himself back from the fireplace and leaned his head against the coffee table in the middle of the room. He rested there for a moment, drawing deep, steadying breaths. After a few minutes, he went back to bed, his mission nearly accomplished.


	41. Ch 41: Don't Forget It

Author's Note: Oh my gosh. One chapter left. Holy crow. It's honestly hard to believe that it's almost over...a little sad, too. I'm only posting this so soon because my roommate has been threatening me...and she can be scary...hehehe.

Anywhoodles, I really hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you so SO much for reading and if you leave a review, thanks for that as well. Much love!

Don't Forget It

The next two days were nothing short of hell. Hermione's life seemed to bear down on her from every way, closing in on her until there was nowhere for her to move, compressing the air around her until it became hard to breathe. From one side came guilt. Guilt that she did not support the society that needed her, guilt that she could not be there to help the Order fight, guilt that she had to sit idly in her Potions class in a horrid state of ignorance and wait like a child for news of victory or defeat.

From the other, came her classmates. After more than one day of hushed conversations and overheard snippets, anyone with a sound mind could piece together what was happening. Of course, no one but those close to the Order knew what was really happening, but the rumors were even worse. Moody had defected to the Dark Side and had sold out the Order…Harry had been one of those to die on the mission…the war was beginning sooner than anyone had anticipated. The last, though, was not so much of a rumor as it was a terrifying truth. The war was starting. Subtly and covertly, yes, but starting nonetheless. And there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

The only release of pressure Hermione could rely on was Draco, and these days even he seemed unusually on edge. He put on a brave face for her, comforting her when she was worried and reassuring her that everything was going to work out. But when he thought she was not looking, his brow tensed and his gray eyes adopted a far-away look. He was just as frightened as she was, which worked with alarming efficiency to undermine the comfort he gave her.

It was the eve of the second attack and Hermione was spending it much like two nights before: wrapped in Draco's arms, staring blankly at the ceiling. But this time, she was nowhere close to drifting to sleep. Instead, her mind was sharp and anxious, waiting for the soft sound of approaching wings and a tap on the window.

The hours passed slowly and, as the pre-dawn rays barely tinged the thick mist with lightest pink and purple, Hermione still laid awake, eyes bloodshot and ringed with black. It must've been around five a.m.

"You didn't get a minute of sleep, did you?" asked Draco quietly. Hermione jumped slightly at the sound of his voice: he gave no indication that he was awake.

She answered him wearily, "No."

"Me neither," he said softly to himself.

Hermione sighed heavily and continued to stare at the ceiling when she heard something. She rolled over, propping herself up on her elbows. "Do you hear that?" she asked.

"Hear what?" Draco asked.

"Shh," she hissed, earning an annoyed look from Draco. "That…that pounding…do you hear it?"

A minute of silence, then Draco spoke. "I can't hear a thing, Hermione. Are you sure you hear something?"

"Yes, I'm sure. There it is again!" And indeed, a series of muffled knocks, this time accompanied by what she imagined to be a shout.

"Now _that_ I did hear," said Draco, who was out of bed in a flash. Not bothering to put on a robe over his pajama pants and bare torso, he headed towards the door, wand in hand.

"Draco!" Hermione whispered. "Where are you going?"

"The portrait hole," he said. "That's where it's coming from."

"Wait for me," she said, slipping on her robe over her short nightgown.

He shot her a hard look. "No. Whatever is pounding on the door this early in the morning is not to be trusted. Stay in here." Without another word, he slipped out of the door.

"Yeah, right," she muttered. Draco wasn't even at the edge of the steps when Hermione reached him, wand drawn. The pounding started again, as did the shouting. Hermione's heart beat a little bit faster and the air temperature seemed to drop. Although she doubted anyone was in trouble, shouts and heavy knocks were not something she wanted to hear at so early an hour.

Sticking close to Draco, they walked down the stairs and to the door. Draco pushed her back an arms-length.

"Cover me," he said quietly and raised his wand. Hermione watched tensely as his pale fingers gripped the edge of the portrait. He hesitated for a moment, then swung it open quickly. Hermione gasped as she saw who it was.

"Ron," she said, her surprise too strong to be hidden. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," he said, shoving past Draco.

"I don't remember saying you could enter, _Weasley_," Draco said with bared teeth.

"I don't remember caring, _Malfoy_," Ron shot back with an icy glare. This surprised Hermione. She had never known Ron to snap so quickly at anyone, even Malfoy. And with such venom! Something was wrong.

"Ron, what is it?" she asked, her voice on the verge of shaking.

His glare softened, but his overall look did not. "I need to talk to you," he reiterated. "_Alone_." He shot a pointed glare at Draco, who drew himself up proudly and sneered.

"Anything you can say in front of her, you can say in front of me, Weasley," he said nastily.

"I don't think so," Ron said with a bored look cast over his shoulder. He grabbed Hermione's arm and started to lead her up the stairs.

"Hey! Where the devil do you think you're going?" Draco yelled, stepping forward. He whirled Ron around so that they were face to face, while Hermione stared at them mutely. As much as she wanted to intervene, the looks she saw in both of their eyes indicated that it was too late.

"Where ever I want to go, Malfoy, so I suggest you get out of my way!" Ron said with a shove.

Draco shoved him back, earning an uncharacteristic snarl from Ron. Draco growled right back and before Hermione knew what was happened, both had transformed – Draco as a grey wolf, Ron as a tawny lion.

They attacked each other instantaneously. They were a mess of brown and gray, of sharp claws and flashing teeth, as they rolled on floor. Draco would pin Ron, but then Ron would clout Draco soundly. Neither was ever down for long; they were too evenly matched. Ron had size, but Draco had experience.

'They're going to tear each other to pieces,' Hermione thought, a cold sick growing in the pit of her stomach.

"_Impedimenta!_" she yelled. Both lunging Animagi slowed comically, confused looks on their inhuman faces. Missing their targets for lack of speed and control, Ron landed on the floor with a thud. Draco, who had landed uncomfortably on the stairs, was first to regain human form. Hermione rushed to his side, wincing as he grimaced and held his ribs, hissing quietly. Cuts marred his face and bite marks his limbs.

Temporarily forgetting about Ron, she helped Draco into a sitting position, caressing those places that were injured and summoning a healing salve. She was about to start slathering it on his chest when Ron gave an outraged gasp.

"Hermione, what the bloody hell are you doing?" He glared at her accusingly as he struggled to sit.

Fighting the hot embarrassment threatening to overtake her cheeks, Hermione snapped, "Making sure you two fools don't kill each other." She headed over to him like nothing was wrong, like she had not just tended to Draco, her supposed arch nemesis, instead of Ron, one of her best friends. Unfortunately, Ron did notice this and shied away from her touch.

"What the hell was that about?" he yelled, looking from Draco to Hermione. "Did you really just help him up? Before me? Before…"

"Ronald, shut up!" Hermione shouted. "I do not have the patience to deal with this right now. You of all people should know this!"

"There was a time when you would have been happy to see him bleeding on the floor!" he accused.

"I could care less about Draco's state," she lied, "especially when you have something to tell me," she replied. Her voice dropped in volume, but was no less demanding. "Now what is it?"

He looked at her quizzically. "Where did you get that robe?" Hermione looked down and realized she had grabbed the one Draco gave her by mistake: a thin, short, black number – nothing like the long, teal one with which Ron was familiar. She fought the blush from her cheeks and struggled to remain focused.

She ignored his question, but watched with trepidation as his thoughtful eyes focused on Draco. He was busy putting salve on his cuts. Hermione took advantage of this. "What is it, Ron?" she said in a conspiratorial whisper.

With a last skeptical glance at Draco, he turned to her. "News," he said, "about last night's operation."

"I didn't get an owl about anything."

"They sent the message through the Floo system. But you weren't in your room…" His eyes narrowed in thought and he looked back towards Draco. Hermione's heart leapt in fear.

"What happened?" she asked quickly.

His attention caught once more, Ron continued. A change came over him, though. His eyes grew dim and his mouth grim. His face suddenly looked incredibly aged, like he was no longer in the frame of a seventeen year old boy. "Failure," he whispered. "Three more dead. Podmore, Kingsley, and…and Tonks."

Hermione's jaw dropped. As much as she felt the need to cry – the tears ready, poised at the corners of her brown eyes – she could manage no more than a gasp. "No…" More out of instinct than anything else, she crawled nearer to Ron, who gathered her in his arms. He rocked her gently as she unsuccessfully willed herself to cry. All she could manage were broken whimpers.

"I know, I know." Ron kissed the top of her head, his voice cracking. Draco remained forgotten on the stairs.

"What are we going to do?" she whispered into the crook of his neck. "What's going to happen?"

He pushed her away slightly, attempting to look into her eyes. "There's a leak in the Order." Hermione gasped again, shocked first because of the severity of the situation, and second because she did not think of it first. "We don't know who it is and I don't know what's going to happen about it."

"I can't believe this," she said. Though her grief was crippling and her shock nearly overwhelming, both emotions took a backseat to what she had just learned. All she felt now was numb and empty. Three more people, three more of her friends, were never to be seen again because one of their own had sold them out.

"The war is starting, Hermione," Ron said with a tone of finality. "We have to prepare."

She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "I'll do all I can. Ron, I'll be ready."

He hugged her close once more, gripping her tightly. "Hermione, I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too, Ron," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears anew.

The moment passed and Ron rose. Hermione walked with him to the door and smiled at him sorrowfully as he left. As the portrait hole closed, she sank to the floor, finally dissolving in tears. She was alone but for a moment; Draco's arms snaked around her, holding her together. Despite his strong hold, her body still threatened to collapse.

She finally calmed down enough to formulate words. "How much did you hear?"

"Most," he confessed. "Three more dead…Shacklebolt and Tonks, among them…the war is starting."

Hermione nodded mutely. "But there's one more thing: a leak in the Order."

His face was unreadable, but his body tensed almost imperceptibly. "Do they have any leads?"

"None," she shook her head.

"What are they going to do?"

"Not sure," she said, wiping her eyes. "What can they do? The Order of the Phoenix is old and their members loyal. The fact that one is deceitful…that there's a betrayer…They can't trust anyone now." She swallowed hard and wiped her eyes. "Draco…this could be our ruin."

XOX

It was March twentieth, the day before the spring equinox. By any definition, it was a beautiful day: clear, blue sky, unseasonably mild temperatures, a gentle breeze, bright sunshine. But a sense of foreboding hung about the entire castle.

The entire student body knew about the unsuccessful Order attack. Students clustered together, talking in soft voices. No one laughed. The teachers were tense and simultaneously absent-minded. There was a dragon in the room, and no one dared talk about it. As a result, everyone was on edge, simply waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And drop it did.

It was after dinner and Hermione was attempting to do homework. The key word being "attempting." She had every intention of working: her books were in front of her, as was a roll of parchment and a fresh jar of black ink. But she could not force the thoughts from her mind, much less put them on paper. Instead, she moved to a seat on the rail of the balcony, legs dangling dangerously off the edge while Draco cleaned up from Quidditch practice, enjoying the peace while it was still there to be enjoyed.

Despite the black shroud veiling her heart, Hermione could not help but notice what a beautiful night it was. It was just after sunset, the sky losing it's mosaic of light losing its light colors in favor of deep, rich shades of blue and purple. A planet appeared on the horizon – Mars, ironically, if her astronomy was correct. The Forbidden Forest hummed with life, providing a soothing soundtrack to the still night. A warm breeze picked up every so often, curling its soft fingers into her hair, caressing her face gently. She closed her eyes and leaned into its touch, letting her troubled thoughts temporarily drift away with it.

Draco joined her soon, leaning next to where she was sitting, looking out at the same scene. The wind picked up his scent: a clean, sharp odor that was not at all unpleasantly mingled with his usual, musky, incredibly _male_ scent. She breathed deeply and opened her eyes to find his intensely fixated on her own.

Hermione kissed him deeply, leaning into him as he responded to her touch. As often as it now occurred, she never tired of the feel of his skin under hers. He was so warm and so real. The thought of being with him made her dizzy, just as the thought of being without him made her cold. The wind picked up and swirled around them gently and Hermione felt complete.

"Draco," she said, her words a whisper against his lips, "Draco, I love you."

He smiled and kissed her again, gently, luxuriously. She could feel him shake, or maybe she was shaking, but it didn't matter. "I love you, Hermione," he said in return. "I love you…I love you. Hermione, please, don't ever forget it."

Hermione smiled and looked up into his eyes. "How could I?"

They were about to embrace again when a fantastic light illuminated the entire grounds, so bright it was almost blinding. Following the light was a boom so deep and resonating that it almost knocked Hermione off of the ledge. Draco caught her just in time and swung her back over, shielding her with his body protectively. Once the great reverberation had settled, they stood at attention at the balcony, peering out into the night.

"What was that?" she asked, perhaps rhetorically.

Another flash illuminated the grounds, followed by a noise even deeper and more pulsating than the first. Several smaller flashes then lit up the night, followed by pops and shouts. Angry silhouettes coursed across the grounds, crackling beams of light flaring from the ends of their wands.

Draco turned into his room and clothed himself. Hermione stood dumbly at the railing, watching the scene before her unfold. Slowly, she turned to Draco, who was lacing up black combat boots from origin unknown. He looked at her plainly, worry etched across his features. "Hermione, get dressed," he said. "It's begun."


	42. Ch 42: An Aversion to Change

Author's Note: Oh. My. Crow. The final chapter. It's over. :sobs into keyboard:

Basically, I just want to say thank you. Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, _thank you_. You guys have been absolutely amazing and I'm so pleased that you stuck with me on this crazy journey. You've given me so much support and encouragement; literally, you've kept me going. You've made this story what it is, which is an incredible and unbelievable success.

And, as most of you know, I'm writing a sequel to this story. In fact, it's pretty much written. But you won't be seeing it for a while. I want to finish posting this story on all of the other sites I visit first. So, while I will be absent, I have not abandoned you. I may decide to beta in this time of non-posting, so if you're looking for one and think I'd be a good fit, drop me a line and I'll see what I can do.

So, without further ado, here is the final chapter. And, for the last time: read, review, and _enjoy_.

-Melissa

An Aversion to Change

Within a moment, Hermione was ready. She met Draco at the top of the staircase, which they rushed down at equal speed. He tore open the portrait hole and was about to sprint down the hallway when Salazar called out from the frame. His words, or more accurately, his tone, effectively stopped them both.

"So it's begun, eh?" he said with a sick humor. "I knew it would soon. But why rush to get out there? What good could you two possibly do?"

"One person can change the course of history," said Hermione tersely. "Who knows what will happen with two."

"Wise words from one so utterly foolish," Salazar jibed.

"We do _not_ have time for this," Draco said waspishly. He gripped Hermione's arm and started off quickly down the hallway.

"It is more than just your life that hangs in the balance here, boy!" Salazar yelled to them. Then, after a moment: "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I don't have a choice!" Draco yelled back. There was an edge to his voice that Hermione had never heard before. Desperation. On only a few occasions had she ever known Draco to be desperate, and neither of them had gone well. The fact that one of those times was now did nothing to quell her mounting fear or allay the ominous feeling that had taken residence in her heart.

"There's always a choice," Salazar replied scathingly.

Unexpectedly, Draco's hand plunged into his robes, withdrawing his wand faster than Hermione thought possible. "_Reducto_!" he snarled, face more bestial than human.

Salazar gasped and dove out of the way just before Draco's curse hit. The portrait was ripped to shreds, but Hermione swore she heard Salazar's faint cackle. She looked at Draco like he was a stranger, her face a mask of confusion and outrage.

"Draco! What the devil was that for?"

He growled in reply and gripped her hand again. Together, they sprinted through the castle, weaving through the throngs of sleepy students that had risen at the noise. Before the few professors that were stationed inside could get a handle on the situation, Draco and Hermione launched out of the door and onto the grounds. In the distance, she could see beams of light and jerky black figures. The shouts grew fiercer as they approached, but neither tarried.

As the distance between Hermione and the battle lessened, gory details slowly filled in the missing pieces of her mental sketch. Unidentifiable bodies scattered the field, lying stiff and prone, facedown and unnaturally configured on the dark grass. As much as she wanted to know who these people were, either to mourn or rejoice, she did not stop. Those that were still fighting needed her. Chances were, even with what little help she could give, they would not need her for long; already the fight seemed to be narrowed down – only the strongest were still alive.

Draco had disappeared, no doubt fighting his own battles, as Hermione shot Stunning spell after Stunning spell at Death Eaters. Right as she was about to hex a huge, burly man, fog encroached around her vision and her heart became as ice. Her breath caught in her chest. Dementors. Lots of them. Ignoring the Death Eater, Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated. She thought of Draco and only Draco – lying with him, flying with him, the feel of his hands on her face, of his lips upon her neck. She loved him and that gave her all the power she needed. "_Expecto Patronum_!"

The force of her Patronus's appearance from her wand nearly sent her staggering backward. But what really caused her to step back was the form her Patronus had taken. Instead of an otter, the most spectacular dragon Hermione had ever seen burst from her wand: streamlined, sleek, and a shining pearly white. The Dementors stood no chance. They disappeared immediately, abandoning the battlefield and retreating to whatever dark and terrible place they came from. Mouth agape with shock, Hermione watched her new Patronus fly around her for a moment before disappearing. All she felt was elation as she turned to the battle once more.

From what she could distinguish through the chaos of light and sound, it looked like the battle could not go better. Lupin was to her left fiercely fighting Fenrir Greyback, the former using a wand, the latter attempting to use brute strength. To her right, Hagrid and Madame Maxine were engaging a full-fledged giant, one of the few that had deigned to come from the mountains to fight. Grawp was beyond them, tangling with two more. Luna dodged hexes from a Death Eater, looking more like she was participating in some intricate and foreign dance than a battle for her life. Ron and the Weasley clan were nowhere to be seen.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Neville single-handedly fighting off Bellatrix Lestrange. Her face was contorted and her teeth bared in an ugly grimace as she hexed Neville mercilessly. The Cruciatus Curse brought him to his knees and, when it looked like the fight had been all but finished, Bellatrix's concentration broke. Neville sprang to his feet as if the pain never happened and hit her with one of the strongest Stunning Spells Hermione had ever seen. The mad woman dropped to the ground, stiff as a board. Before the affects wore off, Neville summoned her wand and pocketed the evil bit of wood, then cast a quick, "_Incarcerous_" and levitated her towards the Forbidden Forest, hiding her behind a tree. Hermione's heart swelled. For the moment, the panorama looked hopeful: it seemed like they were gaining ground. It seemed like they would win.

But as the air before her cleared of smoke, her fleeting feeling of triumph disappeared completely and she was cruelly reminded of just how quickly the tide could turn.

What she saw froze her in place. Voldemort, his long black robes billowing in the wind, held Ginny in front of him like a shield, one pale, long hand wrapped tightly around her neck. She gasped piteously for air, her small hands scrabbling viciously at his. Hermione could see her nails rake into his flesh, but he did not give an inch, instead tightening his deadly grip. Her brown eyes fluttered as she struggled for air; her face took an unnatural pale-blue tint.

She heard a strangled cry and turned her head. It was Harry. His face was contorted into an expression of anguish, all the blood drained from it. Even from a distance, Hermione saw his body involuntarily shake. She drew a deep breath and watched the intense exchange.

"Let her go, Voldemort!" he yelled. "This is between you and me. She has nothing to do with any of it!"

"Ah, but she has _everything_ to do with it," Voldemort said slowly. He caressed the side of her face with the tip of his wand, trailing it from her hairline to her chin, blood dripping from the thin line it traced. She bit back a whimper as her friend grimaced in pain. "She reminds me of someone, Harry. Someone I killed sixteen years ago…Ah, but you never really knew her, did you? She was just a memory to you, and never will be more."

"My mother," Harry said softly, his green eyes widening.

Voldemort smiled, his sharp teeth gleaming in the pale moonlight. "Your _mother_," he repeated, "who died to save you. You know, I wonder if this girl will do the same…" He pointed his wand against her head and said, "_Avada Ked-_"

"No!" shouted Harry. "Wait!"

The battlefield stilled: Death Eater and Order member alike stopped to watch the final exchange. Voldemort turned his head back to Harry and barked in what was assumed to be laughter. "Wait, Potter? There is no 'wait' in this situation! I know you destroyed my Horcruxes! _Waiting_ was what allowed you to progress so far! I dare say I underestimated you; Lord Voldemort is not so proud to ignore his…_oversights_." His snake-like face contorted into a guilty grimace.

He continued. "But if nothing else, I have learned! I will wait no longer! You must make your choice! Your life or hers? Do you save the one you love? Or do you see her die and live the rest of your life knowing that _you_ are the one responsible for her death? That she died _because_ of you!" A silent moment, a moment of hesitation, passed. "CHOOSE, POTTER!" Voldemort yelled, digging his wand further into Ginny's head.

Fear struck Hermione's heart. Harry had worked so hard to destroy the Horcruxes. But had he worked as hard on mastering his emotions, on squelching that damned 'hero complex' which had caused them all so much grief over the past years? As much as she hoped he had, she knew immediately what his choice would be. "No, Harry!" Hermione yelled, now miraculously able to move.

She dashed towards him, legs furiously pounding the ground. Little did Hermione know that another pair of legs was rushing towards the scene as well. They barreled into her with a deep grunt, knocking her brutally to the ground. The breath flew out of her and her wand flew away. Momentarily unable to breathe, she watched in horror as Harry's frame wilted. He lowered his wand and said resignedly, "Let her go."

"Throw down your wand," Voldemort ordered, not missing a beat.

He did, tossing it away violently – too far away to be retrieved. "Let her go, Voldemort!" Harry yelled. His hands were fisted at his sides and his teeth bared threateningly, green eyes flashing.

But his order was met with a cold, cruel laugh. "_Avada Kedavra!_" A thin shaft of green light was seen for just a moment before connecting with Ginny's frame. There was not even enough time for her to realize what was happening before her body stiffened in Voldemort's arms. He let her drop unceremoniously to the ground, then turned his wand on Harry, who was shocked into stillness. With one more utterance of the Killing Curse, Harry was hit with the spell. He fell to the ground, unquestionably dead.

A shockwave pulsed through the battleground. Everyone had seen what happened. Everyone knew about the prophecy. And everyone knew what it meant. Harry was dead.

Everything around her disappeared. All she could see was Voldemort and his maniacal grin, wand still pointed in triumph at Harry Potter, the boy who died. He laughed, a cold, high pitched sound that made her skin crawl. Slowly, he lifted his arm and sent the Dark Mark into the sky.

The war was over.

"No!" she screamed. "NO!" Hermione squirmed out from underneath the man who was pinning her down and sprinted towards Voldemort, completely wandless, but hell-bent on killing him with her bare hands.

"Hermione, no!" came Draco's voice from behind her. His arms latched around her tightly, possessively, and brought her to the hard ground once more. She struggled to her feet, but Draco's grip would not be lessened.

"I didn't have a choice, I didn't have a choice. This was the only way. I didn't have a choice. Don't you see? Hermione, I love you." he whispered. He chanted it like a mantra, like it would somehow act as an adequate explanation for everything that had just passed. Hermione heard him, but did not understand. Nor did she care. She broke from his grasp and lunged out at Lord Voldemort, who was now directly in front of her.

He lashed out sharply with his wand, an arc of purple light leaving a large and vicious gash across her cheek. With a cry, Hermione fell to the ground. With a flick of his wand, he pinned her there. With a cold, evil smile, he spoke: "Good work, Draco. I know how hard this must have been for you…Lowering yourself to the level of this Mudblood, this…_thing_, must have been absolutely demeaning."

Something in the air changed. It became tense and frightened and evil and, worst yet, _familiar_. Within a second, she placed it.

_Betrayal_.

"I suffered for our cause, my Lord. I rejoice now to see that it was not in vain," Draco looked from Hermione to Voldemort, his eyes detached and emotionless. He said it with utmost respect, like a solider reporting to his commander. He showed not an ounce of fear.

Hermione nearly fainted. What was this? What was happening? Was Draco really talking to Voldemort? Lowering himself? Her level? What…

Suddenly, it all clicked. When did information start to leak to the Death Eaters? How did they know about the attacks? How were they able to counter every move that the Order made? _Draco_. It's how they were so prepared, how they were so ready for the attacks, and the only reason they succeeded. It was Draco.

'No,' Hermione thought, the blood rushing from her head, 'it was me.' The realization hit her like a two-ton anvil. It was all her fault. If she had done as Moody had told her, none of this would have happened. So many people warned her. So many people! Take care in whom you trust, do not trust anyone, do not trust _him_. But against all their warnings, she had. Her vision was spotted with black as she fought off a faint. If she had only listened, if she had only taken their advice to heart, they may have won. Harry may still be alive, the six people who died in the attacks and the countless now dead on the field may have been spared. Her future may have turned out dramatically different.

But it was not so. Hermione had changed fate. And fate was not something to be so easily rectified.

No less shattering than the realization that she was single-handedly responsible for effectively destroying the world was the harsh truth about her relationship with Draco.

It was a lie. It had to be – everything was a lie. The comfort, the kisses, the sex, the love…Her heart broke, was ripped to shreds inside her chest. It was a physical pain, worse than anything she had ever experienced, worst than any Cruciatus she would ever receive.

But something was amiss. What he did was surreal, and the fact that everything they had together could be a lie boggled her mind. It was so contrary to what had happened throughout the year…And didn't he say he loved her? He couldn't just say that…could he? Hermione wanted to cry with confusion, but the spell placed on her prohibited her from such a necessary release.

These things whipped through Hermione's mind as Draco and Voldemort stood over her, reveling in victory, yet quiet in contemplation. Voldemort's voice broke Hermione from her thoughts. "Indeed, you have been most loyal, Draco. You have redeemed yourself beyond anyone's expectations. You will be greatly rewarded once I have established myself. I'm sure that your father is proud."

Draco bowed low. "Thank you, my Lord," he said expressionlessly.

Voldemort turned to Hermione now. "And what to do with this one?" he asked, fingering his wand lightly. A light smile played across his features as Hermione looked up at him in fear. "Orman!" he barked. "Any ideas?"

The sickening man walked into Hermione's field of vision and her mind nearly burst. While this was less of a shock than Draco's duplicity, it incited her anger even more. With Draco, she felt deeply betrayed. With Channing, she felt rage that she did not act upon her instincts earlier. She had never had a good feeling about him. He was too normal, too nondescript to be completely honest. Hermione saw now what he really was: a sycophant, easily swayed by those with power, and a complete bastard.

Not to mention creep. As he looked down at her and slowly licked his lips, her body tensed as the impulse to hurt him coursed through her veins. She did not see Draco's fists clench. "I don't care, my Lord. Whatever you decide, I'm sure, will be sufficient," he said spitefully.

"_Crucio_," Voldemort hissed. Hermione braced herself for overwhelming pain, but it never came. Instead, Channing crashed to the ground beside her, screaming in true agony. She felt a small flutter of victory in her chest; she hoped he died from the pain.

"When I ask for your opinion, I expect to be given an answer!" He lifted the curse abruptly, and turned towards Draco, twirling his wand. "Have you an idea, Draco?"

Draco started slightly and moved next to Voldemort to get a better look at Hermione. His cold eyes looked down at her, not meeting her eyes but looking at a point somewhere over her left shoulder. His mouth remained impassive. "Send her to Azkaban."

Voldemort gave him a sidelong glance. "Azkaban?" If his reptilian face had any eyebrows, he would have raised one.

"Yes," Draco said. Now, his silver eyes pierced directly her own and there was a startling and horrifying lack of emotion within them. His apathy was all too evident. Hermione wished it was hate, for that would require him to feel _something_. But no matter how pleading she tried to make her expression, his did not budge. "Death would be a release," he said in a whisper.

Voldemort was silent for a moment, considering Draco's reasoning. "You show great potential," Voldemort said with a smile in his voice. "Azkaban it shall be. She is your charge until then."

"Yes, my Lord," Draco said. The spell on Hermione lifted. Draco dragged her to her feet and started to haul her away.

Only when Voldemort moved on to either torture or kill the other survivors did Hermione speak. "So it was all a lie?" Her voice shook with emotion as tears spilled down her face, mixing with the blood dripping down her cheek, stinging when they entered the gash itself. She ignored the pain. "All of this, everything that happened, it was all just…"

"All just what, Granger?" The use of her last name was like a slap to the face. "A lie?" He fixed her with a strong stare. His eyes were no longer apathetic, but they were still unreadable. "I did not have a choice." He accentuated every word. "It was the only way."

Hermione furrowed her brow and shook her head in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?" she breathed, growing frustrated with his ambiguity. "Your only choice? The only way to what?"

"You don't understand…" he sighed, "you'll never understand. But I had no _choice_."

That was enough. "There's always a choice!" she yelled, ripping herself from his grip. She slapped him hard and glared at him. Unexpectedly, he brought his hand across her face, sending her reeling to the ground.

He bent down low next to her ear, mouth twisted into a savage snarl. "_I had no choice_," he hissed for the final time. Then, unexpectedly, his voice softened. "I'm sorry, Hermione…so sorry," he said. "Please…please, forgive me." Draco looked at her, eyes shining with tears unshed and mouth contorted into a deep frown. He traced the line of her face softly with one hand, planting a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth. Then, he raised his arm steadily and pointed it at her head. "_Stupefy_."

With a flash of red light, Hermione's world faded from view.

When she next woke, she was lying against a cold, stone wall on an ever colder, stone floor. She was completely alone and surrounded by darkness. To her surprise, the gash across her face had been healed. But the wound had soaked her robes with blood, and the wetness did nothing to keep out the penetratingly deep chill of the prison. The only noises were the faint weeping of other cellmates and the slow rattle of a Dementor's breath. She did not have her wand.

She slowly pushed herself into a sitting position in the corner of the cell. She heard a faint flutter from above her head. Straining her neck upwards, she caught glimpse of a lone window high above her head. Sitting at it was her owl – Amaris. Hermione wanted to call out to her, but instinct stalled her tongue. Any sign of life would surely attract the Dementors, and she was in no position to handle any more torment.

And perhaps Amaris understood this. She hooted lowly, shuffled nervously from her perch, gave another hoot, and took off into the night. Although she knew it was for the best, it did not make the loss any less painful. Head against the rough stone wall, Hermione began to silently weep: for herself, for her friends, and for all wizard-kind, whose lives would now change drastically because of her.

All because of her.

XOX

Draco found himself in the same stone chamber where he had been punished not but a year earlier. But this time, he was being treated with a marked increase of respect. Instead of being thrown to the ground at Voldemort's feet and tortured mercilessly, he was seated at the Dark Lord's right hand, being lauded for his fantastic espionage work. Channing was being recognized too; it was no small feat to infiltrate the Order of the Phoenix for so long and completely avoid detection. Draco had to admit, Orman had done a fabulous job – _he _did not even recognize him as a Death Eater until Christmas and they were part of the same organization! But despite Orman's successes, it was still Draco who held honors at the table that eve.

"A toast," said Lucius Malfoy, standing and raising his goblet high, "to Draco. You have redeemed yourself." His toast was short, but to Draco, it spoke volumes. He had finally earned his father's respect and, with that, respect from all the Death Eaters. He was the youngest man ever to do so with such apparent ease. And what's more: he had saved his own life. The consequences of Draco's failure had been made quite clear to him since the beginning. And although Draco's _motives_ had surely changed over the past year, his original goal had not wavered. He was to live. He _had_ to live.

The other Death Eaters seated at the table raised their goblets, echoing the toast. Each drank deeply from his cup and talked of their success and their future plans. Orman tried to chat with Snape, who was deep in conversation with Lucius Malfoy. Bellatrix, who Draco had found randomly tied to a tree, was sending lust-filled, seductive glances to Voldemort whenever she possibly could. He, of course, was steadfastly ignoring her. Draco said little, preferring to watch the paradoxical normality with which the table occupants conducted their meal. No one noted his silence; it was no doubt attributed to the sudden release of stress.

The dinner ended after several hours of ominous conversation. As the Death Eaters and protégées mingled, Draco felt a tap on his shoulder. It was none other than the three boys who had been tormenting him throughout the year.

"Malfoy," Zabini greeted smoothly, flanked by a nervous looking Crabbe and Goyle.

Draco's instincts kicked in immediately. Without thinking, without even _thinking_ about thinking, he withdrew his wand and stunned Crabbe and Goyle, who fell to the floor with a thud. A quick Crucio to Zabini brought the third boy to the floor as well, who writhed and cried out in pain as Draco watched, mouth contorted into a sadistic smile. His eyes took in the sight ravenously, Zabini's cries falling on deaf ears.

Revenge was sweet indeed.

He broke the curse eventually, looking down regally at the shaking and broken black boy. "Malfoy," he croaked, "if you had told us, we wouldn't have done…"

Draco cast the curse again: a short burst of pain fueled by his rage, a friendly reminder just who had control. "You shouldn't have been so hasty to act, Zabini," Draco hissed, eyes flashing. Their confrontation had gathered a crowd – even Voldemort was watching the exchange with rapt attention. "I wasn't lying when I said that you would pay for that shite."

"Malfoy…we didn't…we wouldn't have…"

"Quiet!" he seethed, leveling his wand at Zabini's forehead, which was beaded with sweat. "I said you would pay. Now take it!" He cast another Crucio, not noticing the vicious smiles on the faces of the present Death Eaters.

Another hand descended onto his shoulder, cold, with long, spindly fingers. Draco lessened the curse without breaking it, looking over his shoulder and into the red eyes of Voldemort himself.

"That's enough, young Malfoy," he said, baring his small, sharp teeth in a grin that more resembled a snarl. "Not all revenge has to be exacted physically." Reluctantly, Draco let go, ignoring Zabini's pained gasps and wheezes. He looked around at the faces of those present, seeing more proud expressions than he would have liked.

"Excuse me," he said quietly. With a last scathing look at Zabini and the two unconscious crones, Draco Apparated to Malfoy Manor. He pushed open the heavy double doors for the first time in what felt like a century. There, waiting for him in the center of the white marble floor, was his mother. He rushed into her arms, which she wrapped around him in a tight hug. He held her just as tightly.

"Draco…I was so afraid that you wouldn't…that you would…" Tears choked her whispered words as she clutched him tighter and cried into his neck. "I'm so happy you're home."

"I am too, mother," he whispered. Eventually, Narcissa detangled herself from his grasp, taking note of her son's tired grey eyes, which were cast, unfocused, to the floor.

She smiled gently, cupping his cheek in her hand. "Your room is just as you left it, dear. Now go and get some sleep. You've had a trying day."

Draco remembered himself enough to give a small chuckle. "That would be the understatement of the century, mother." She smiled too, although it did not reach her eyes. It was sad, as if she could see some truth behind his words. How much of the truth, however, was another matter entirely.

He trudged up the stairs wearily and shut and locked the door. He rested his body against the solid oak panel, nearly collapsing from exhaustion. He cast a quick spell to soundproof the room then threw two wands upon his bed. Finally, he was able to let go.

He reached for the nearest thing to him, which happened to be his nightstand. Hardly noticing the weight of it, he flung it across the room with a primal scream. It cracked against the wall loudly, splintering against the ancient grey stone. But it was not enough. His bureau next, each of the drawers pulled out and chucked against a wall, the thick wood splintering wildly, embedding its pieces in carpet and flesh alike. The bookcase toppled over, the shelves broken almost beyond repair. It almost hurt him to see the books – books _she _loved so much – crumpled against the ground, pages torn and spines broken, but he couldn't stop.

Draco ran around the room like a madman, throwing everything he could, breaking his life, destroying everything that had ever meant anything to him, as quickly as possible. His wand. He needed his wand now, sending curses and hexes as fast as he could think of them, reducing his furniture to little more than piles of sawdust and splinters on the floor. He barely resisted the urge to set it all on fire, to set his possessions aflame and go down with them.

Everything destroyed, Draco stood blankly and panted, hand growing limp. He looked around hopelessly. Wand dropping from his useless hand, beads of perspiration dripped down his forehead and neck. Suddenly, the blood drained from his face. He rushed to the bathroom and threw himself to the floor, barely making the toilet. He vomited until there was nothing left, but continued to retch out of disgust, his back and stomach heaving with exertion.

He wiped the vomit from his lips when he finished then threw himself from the toilet to the wall. He dug his pale fingers deep into his platinum hair and pulled. He tore at his clothes, at his skin, ripping both. He writhed on the black floor of his bathroom, blood and tears streaming down his face. He screamed until his voice was nothing but a harsh rattle. He hurt and he bled and he tried to destroy everything, because everything was a reminder of himself.

Then, Draco shuddered. His body spent and bleeding, there was nothing more he could do than curl into a ball on the cool black tile and sob until his lungs ached and his eyes burned. By the time he finished, his soul was little more than a useless lump of black rot, nestled somewhere inside his cold heart.

_Fin_


End file.
